


Alice in Russia

by rudolphsb9



Series: The Once And Future Howe [2]
Category: Hitman: Agent 47 (2015), Legends (2014), National Treasure (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, M/M, MartinKat is shot to hell in this fic, There's still hints of JohnKat, it's just all one sided, periodic cheesy chapter titles, tfw you learn 'jacqueline (national treasure movies' is an actual tag, that's a spoiler btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-09-30 19:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 90
Words: 82,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudolphsb9/pseuds/rudolphsb9
Summary: Sosnovka. Freezing as shit, but it's where they keep Martin while Ivanenko works on getting through to his "real" identity, a man named Alexei Volkov.Los Angeles. Katia and 47 are minding Martin's apartment while he's "away", as far as they know.And finally, Washington, D.C. and Maryland. The hunt is back underway now that Ben Gates is free, but clues lead to questions, and these questions have no direct answers, and the question of whether to actually unearth these buried secrets is still very much on the table.A string of mysterious phone calls unite them under common cause, and a rescue mission is launched. But, as with the treasure hunt, perhaps some secrets are best kept under the surface.





	1. Prelude: 2016: New Year's Resolutions

Conrad sighed, staring blankly out the office window at the snow falling lazily. The year had just started, and already a nightmare of a mess was sitting on his desk, waiting to be addressed. His contact in Ensign had had it dropped off earlier that morning, and he had yet to look at it. By the look on the youth’s face, and all things considered, he knew what it was going to be about. Senator Gorman had just returned days ago for the second session of the 114th Congress, and Conrad didn’t want to put this on his desk just yet.

He didn’t want to do anything with the mess that had closed out 2015.

Verax had all but fractured in the panic of discovering all of its vital and non-vital documents gone, as well as most of the money required to sustain it. Some were sensible and trying to find the person or persons responsible, but others had simply fallen into a state of panic. Many of Verax’s ground forces had disappeared outright, and others were failing drug tests routinely. Some had turned to what he called “side work”, under the table, black-market work, mercenary work for criminal overlords, and so forth.

Conrad sighed once again. Truth be told, he couldn’t blame them. The way things had been going this year, it felt truly like everything had fallen apart just as quickly as it had come together, if not more so. He took another deep breath, reaching for a secret stash of whiskey he kept in a cabinet in his desk, and poured some into his coffee before returning it. Then he took a sip and resigned himself to looking at the file.

***

Clancy Gorman exhaled, sinking into his desk and rubbing his eyes. He had been trying to bury himself in work over the past few months, considering that Verax had recently fallen apart and his personal friend Jason Shaw had been brutally killed. He tried to think as little about it as he could, though he did attend the funeral and offer his condolences to the family, what was left of it that actually liked him.

But now the important gears in Congress were rolling and he had only a few nominal functions to serve at this point before the next major news item. This left him with little to no choice to think about the blow that had been delivered to Verax, the implications, what it meant, the fear that it induced. Whomever they were up against was truly, legitimately dangerous.

He reached over and picked up the phone, dialing the number for the secure line to Conrad Tomlin’s desk. He waited patiently while the phone rang once, twice, three times before someone answered. “Secretary Tomlin,” he said.

“Tomlin, it’s Gorman,” the senator replied. “I think we need to talk.”

“I can guess what about.”

“What’re we gonna do?”

He heard Tomlin take a breath. “We have to regroup,” he said. “Pull together and plan our next move. You realize we have been greatly compromised. Whoever or…whatever did this…”

“Needs to be found and brought to justice,” Gorman said, his voice hardening as he looked up, filled with a fresh resolve.


	2. 2007: Marcailles

“So that’s why she left,” Riley said, staring at the dining table after Ian explained everything to him over a quiet, small lunch he didn’t eat much of anyway. It had been about two weeks since his accident, and he still felt like shit, but he figured that this was going to be a fact of life until medicine could fix it in the future. And he still held out for robots.

“She’s worried about where she stands with you,” Ian replied. “It’s nothing against you. She just fears that she feels obligated to you now and wants to make sure she comes from a place of authenticity.”

Riley picked at a bite of food for a moment. “To tell you the truth, Ian? Nobody’s ever done that for me before.” He looked up at the man, feeling surprisingly good, though in what way he was not yet sure. Ian smiled warmly and genuinely at him, another fact Riley wasn’t quite sure he could handle.

He sat up in the chair and returned to his plate. “How do you feel?”

“Still crappy.”

Ian smirked a little and sipped some tea. “You’ll be fine. You just need some annual X-Rays, pain medication if you want it.”

“No,” Riley interjected, almost before Ian could finish. Ian looked up at him, and then he nodded.

“Very well,” Ian said. Riley merely nodded and looked back at his plate, frowning slightly at his food.

***

Jackie sighed, toweling off her hair and shifting just slightly on the warm marble floor in the still steam-filled bathroom. She shook her hair out a little bit and caught a whiff of the fruity shampoo Nicole had stocked pretty much out one’s ears. Jackie didn’t complain, but she did think it was an awful lot of shampoo for just the two of them and only the twice-a-year guest that stayed more than just a few hours. She continued to towel herself off and then wrapped herself in it, looking around languidly for a moment before stepping out into the guest room.

She rummaged through a pile of clothes before finding a pair of thick sweatpants and a loose tee shirt and pulling into them, returning the towel to the bathroom before stepping out into the hall. Nicole and Elena were waiting in the dining room, mulling over lunch.

“There you are!” Nicole beamed at her. “I thought you’d take forever in that shower.”

Jackie laughed. “It is a nice shower, not going to lie,” she replied as she took a seat.

“So,” Elena said in a crisp, bright French accent. “Nicki tells me that you have a…”

“Predicament,” Nicole supplied, sipping her tea. “Care to tell us?”

“You’re going to think I’m cheesy, or stupid, or selfish, or all three,” Jackie insisted, but they both shook their heads and made small noises to the contrary. She took a deep breath and started recounting for them her history with Riley and in particular their adventure in London and his subsequent injuries. She mentioned briefly her mixed feelings arising out of the accident, and Nicole nodded.

“I understand,” she said. “So you’re here to sort yourself out.”

“Well…yeah.”

“And when you do?” Elena asked. Jackie looked at her. “When you get it figured out. What will you do?”

“Well, it depends on what decision I make. I could choose to leave him, or I could choose to stay with him.”

“What if you stay?”

“I…don’t know.”

“What if you leave?”

“Then I go back to Rapid City and my fabric selling job and pray I don’t fall into any more of these crazy messes of Ian’s, or anyone else’s.” Elena glanced at Nicole, who gave her a look which could be reasonably deciphered as, “Stop questioning her you bitch”, and looked back at Jackie again.

“Sounds reasonable,” she said. Jackie cocked an eyebrow, wondering what on God’s green Earth was going on in Elena’s head to lead her along this course of thinking. Then again, she really didn’t want to know.

“Yeah I’m just here to get my feelings in order and come back maybe feeling less like I’m obligated to anyone for any reason, because that is no way to have a relationship,” Jackie said, glancing at the table as she finished her sentence, and holding her hands up.

Elena shrugged, and Nicole returned to sipping her tea.


	3. 2016: Katia And 47 Receive Guests

Katia sipped hot cocoa and looked up at the half-painted green wall. The floor under her feet was covered in thick plastic tarp to protect the fresh floor as well as a lot of the furniture she, Martin, and Ian had elected to keep. For now Ian and his crew had rented out a suite somewhere in the city for the holidays, and they wouldn’t be back for another couple of days. Martin was also indisposed, spending his holidays with his ex-wife Sonya and their son Aiden. 47, who had visited her perhaps for lack of something else to do for the season than spend it alone once again, was watching her work.

“What do you think?” he asked after a moment of silence. She had long known that he carefully measured his words, rather than choosing silence haphazardly.

She exhaled a little. “I think it’s coming along well,” she replied, looking at him. “We should be finished within the month.” She took another sip.

“Very good.” 47 looked at the wall in progress. “Was this your idea?”

“Yeah.”

“It looks nice.”

“Thank you,” she said genuinely, surprised still, and couldn’t help but stare at him a bit. He merely nodded imperceptibly and glanced back at his hot chocolate. Katia looked at him, resting the cup in one hand in her lap and tracing around the rim softly with her free hand. “Bruv?”

“Yes?”

“Did you know her?”

“Who?”

“My mother,” she said, looking at him. “Did you know her?”

He looked at her a moment, his brow smoothing over as he came to understand what she was asking. “Only vaguely,” he replied. “I know that she was very beautiful, and your father loved her dearly. From the looks of things, she loved him just as much.”

“Did…did you know her name?”

“Krista. Krista Anne DeSilva.” Katia felt a smile form on her face at the knowledge, and her finger continued to dance on the rim of her hot cocoa mug while she let it blossom. Krista Anne DeSilva. It was lovely. Katia loved it. Krista Anne DeSilva. Krista Anne DeSilva. She sighed a little; the name itself was music to her ears.

Something reached her ears, and she straightened at once, listening intently. 47 looked at her, scrutinized her. He could tell something was off. “Katia?” he asked.

“Hold that thought,” she said, holding up a finger, and then slowly she slid off the sofa and set the cup on the coffee table. She moved to the door and gestured for 47 to follow her. He took up a position on one side of the door while she posted herself on the other, ready to open it and act like nothing was wrong. By this point she figured out that there were six people approaching her, and four were probably at the perimeter for a full squad of ten.

She gave him a look, and he moved a hand to one of the pistols under his suit jacket. A few moments later someone knocked on the door. She opened it after a brief pause and leaned on the doorjamb. “Can I help you?” she asked the men in the hall.

“We’re looking for a Mr. Martin Odum,” the man in charge said, shifting a little toward her. “Is he here?”

Katia paused, speaking slowly. “…No… I’m sorry, I’m afraid he won’t be back for another week or so.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“I don’t know, no,” she said, shaking her head. “Ask his brother, he might know.”

“Brother, ma’am? We weren’t aware that he had a brother.”

“Frankly, sir, neither was he, not until a few months ago.” Katia shrugged, as if this were a rather common occurrence, and watched them.

“Where is this brother of his?”

“I don’t know that, either,” Katia said, shrugging again. This time she meant it. “I wish I could be of more help.” That was another lie, as she didn’t trust these people as far as she could throw them.

“You’ve been quite helpful, ma’am,” he said, and he smiled and gave her a casual salute. “Have a wonderful day.”

“You as well, thank you.” Katia watched them leave and then closed the door behind them, breathing a sigh of relief. “That could’ve been a disaster,” she said quietly. 47 looked at her.

“It shouldn’t have been that easy,” he said bluntly. Katia looked at him, and it began to settle in that he was right.

“This is a show,” she concluded. “They’re watching us and they want us to know it. Why?”

“Who do you think it is?”

“Who could it be? Verax. As for why…they’re trying to regroup.” She started pacing. “They are reforming, trying to recover from what we did to them. They don’t have the money for anything but they’re trying. It’s desperate, tentative, terrified.” She turned back to 47. “We shook them.”

47 looked at her, and smiled a little.


	4. 2016: A Slow Return To Reality

Ian hummed a little to himself, making himself a sandwich out of some of the leftover ham from about three weeks ago. How it hadn’t been picked apart yet he knew he would never know, but his suspicion was that his guys were still carving their way through the side dishes like Tasmanian Devils. Ian had just picked up the plate and started carrying it to the living room to settle in and watch their attempt at poker, when his phone rang. He picked up the handset, set the plate on the end table, and said, “Hello?”

“Mr. Howe?” asked a voice on the other end of the line. Ian didn’t recognize him.

“Who are you? How did you get this number?” he asked, and his guests looked up at him.

“Is Martin Odum with you?”

Ian straightened and looked around at his men, Jackie, and Riley. “Why are you asking me this?” he asked.

“Is he with you?”

“Answer my question and then maybe I’ll answer yours.”

“Very well.” The man cleared his throat. “We have it on very good authority that he would be staying with you for the holidays.”

“Well, I was not informed of this,” Ian said. “I don’t know where he is, but he’s not here, and in fact I haven’t seen him since…September I believe. He told me he needed a little time to think things over so I got my crew set up somewhere else.”

“I see. Do you know who might know where he is right now?”

“I’m afraid not. Maybe his coworkers?”

“Thank you.” The man hung up, and Ian made a face and looked at his phone before setting it down.

“What was that about?” Shaw asked.

“I’m…not sure,” Ian replied, sitting next to him. Shaw rested a hand on his thigh, and Ian leaned on his shoulder.

***

Truth be told, Ben couldn’t stop working even if he wanted to. Currently he was sitting in his study, going over all of his notes pertaining to the page 47 mystery. It had only been recently that he could resume work on the subject, and it helped to review what he previously thought on the subject. He sighed a little, pursing his lips and rubbing his chin, scrutinizing some old notes on the passages from page 47. He took a deep breath and set the notes down, thinking a bit.

The page itself detailed the defection of a man named Peter Aaron Litvenko, a renowned geneticist and on the run from the Soviet Union. His work cut out right about when he moved from theory to mice models and developed novel methods of cloning, and a little bit before he ran. He must’ve known that whatever he did, it was dangerous. Ben recalled the sequence of events just before his capture and arrest, and he wondered briefly how close he actually was to finding this treasure. Whatever it was.

He took a deep breath and reached for his cell phone, intending to call Ian to have a meeting about this, only to find a message from him: ‘ _Do you know anything about where Martin Odum is? Or why people are looking for him?_ ’

‘ _No idea where he is, but I have a couple ideas about who wants him,_ ’ he replied. ‘ _Three guesses, first two don’t count ;)_ ’

‘ _Clever clever._ ’

Ben laughed a little, shaking his head. ‘ _I think we should meet up, talk about it. And the treasure._ ’ Best to get to the point, he reasoned. Ian had been told, as had Jackie and Riley, though whether Ian told the rest of his crew or not, he wasn’t quite sure, and then it didn’t really matter. They would follow him anywhere; that much was pretty obvious from the get-go.

‘ _Just tell me where and when._ ’ Ben nodded and smiled.

‘ _How does 11 tomorrow sound? At the Georgetown cupcakes place that’s on TV?_ ’

‘ _Sounds perfect. I’ll bring Shaw._ ’

‘ _Great. I’ll be there._ ’

Ben put his phone down and returned to his notes, trying to find a new way forward more than anything else.


	5. 2007: Ian Questions An Old Friend's Life Choices

Ben sighed, burying his hands in the pockets of his jacket while he looked around the lobby of London City Airport. He spotted Ian relatively quickly, and Ian smiled at him, waving him over. Ben smiled back and approached. “Sorry Abigail couldn’t make it,” he said. “She…thought it was necessary to keep an eye on things back home, and of course my dad got involved and…”

“No need to explain,” Ian cut in, clapping Ben on the shoulder as they started toward the doors. “After everything that happened, I completely understand.”

“Thanks, Ian.” Ian led him out to a white Hummer, a jacked-up thing that he suspected would’ve looked intimidating to Riley. Ben followed him into the back seat, and Victor pulled away from the curb.

“So…what was it you couldn’t tell me over the phone?”

“I…have a proposition for you.”

“Oh?” Ian asked, looking at Ben. “What kind of proposition?”

“Treasure. I think.”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“Not really. I mean, I have ideas on what it could be, but…I don’t know for sure.”

“What do you know so far?”

Ben glanced at Victor, and then at Ian, leaning toward him and lowering his voice. “I know about the defection of a brilliant Soviet doctor, a geneticist running from his own country.”

“Do you know why?”

“I can guess.”

Ian hummed, considering the implications of what Ben had just told him. “Are you sure that following this trail is the best way to go?”

“Excuse me?” Ben asked, looking at him.

“Ben, we’re talking about a brilliant scientist. Tell me about his publication history.”

“…Well…he was a prolific writer. He…did a lot of work on mice and other model organisms, even wrote a Soviet textbook, _The Theory and Practice of Biogenetics_. Then, some time in the late nineteen fifties, the authorship stopped. Several years later, in 1964, he fled to the United States with his girlfriend, Natasha de Silva. Except as far as I’ve been able to tell Natasha de Silva is an alias.”

“For whom?”

“I’m working on it.”

“I see. Go on.”

“Well, they defected to the US, and they talked quite a lot to the boys at Langley. The doctor in particular talked a lot about the advancements he was making in the realm of human biogenetics, talking a lot of theory about the potential for cloned, engineered human beings.”

“So I ask you again, Ben. Are you sure you want to go down this rabbit hole?” Ben gave him a strange look, so Ian continued, “Think about it, Ben. You said yourself that the man knew dangerous things about manipulating the human genome. Are you sure that’s a thing you want made known?”

“I’m…not sure I follow.”

“You’re an historian and a treasure hunter. But you need to understand that some things are best kept hidden.”

“Like this?”

“Especially this. Ben, _if_ this is as bad as it sounds, then maybe we should leave this hunt where it is. In the wrong hands…Let me put it this way. You recall Octagon?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s another Octagon waiting for just the right opportunity. Do you want to give them that chance?”

Ben watched him silently for a moment before leaning back in the seat and staring out the window at the English countryside. Ian had a point, but something nagged at him. He looked at the man. “Ian,” he said, “do you know what happens when you tell a secret to the whole world?”

“No, I don’t,” he said somewhat sardonically. “But I imagine you’ll enlighten me regardless.”

Ben noted this comment but didn’t make a sound one way or the other. “There will be a huge discussion, just as there was the treasure. People talked about every major discovery, and in niche circles every discovery got talked about.”

“You think that will happen with this.”

“Exactly, and not only that, there will be legislation, regulation.”

“We’re talking about what it means to be human. You do realize this, correct?”

“I’m well aware of that, Ian. And that’s why I’m willing to move forward. This is much bigger than the Templar Treasure by its very nature.”

“Lemme get this straight,” Victor said from the driver’s seat. “You wanna expose a huge conspiracy thing that makes superhumans for…regulations?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Ben said before Ian could say anything. Ian simply hummed.

“I’m not sure I agree with your philosophy, Ben,” Ian said. “I’ve done business with enough people to know that most are interested primarily in what benefits them. I know you believe in the inherent goodness of humanity but sometimes you’re just wrong.”

Ben blinked, somewhat surprised, and looked at Victor. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’d have to side with my boss, he signs my paycheck.” Ian chuckled at his man’s candor.

“Don’t worry, Victor,” he said lightly. He looked at Ben. “You’re an idealist,” he continued. “I don’t think you fully understand how crooked and cruel people can be to one another. I understand your idealism, I truly do, but frankly, you’re wrong about most people, Ben. If you leak this to the planet, you will create a much bigger problem than anyone is ready to handle. We’re talking about chaos, Ben. Disruptive technologies aren’t always good, and they always change everything.”

“Almost here,” Victor said, turning onto the track leading to the country house.

“Ben, think about what you’re doing,” Ian said softly. “For all our sakes.”

A few minutes later Victor had parked out front, in a sweeping drive that seemed to have carried over from across the pond, or vice versa, and he hopped out, opening the door for Ian. Ben elected to get it himself, and Ian’s words wouldn’t leave him.


	6. 2007: Compromise

Riley leaned on the cane, limping into the living room and wincing with each step. He looked like shit and felt worse, and when he saw Ben there he couldn’t help but ask himself what on Earth was going on. “What’re you doing here?” he asked, trying to sound normal, sure he was failing.

“Riley,” Ben replied. “You’re looking well.”

“As well as I can. Wanna tell me what’s going on?” He looked at Ian, hoping at least the bad guy would answer.

“Ben has a treasure hunting proposition, if you’re up for it. I think he’s being foolish, but I’m afraid he can’t be convinced.”

“It’s _Ben Gates_! What did you think?” Ian laughed in response and invited Riley to pull up a chair to allow Ben to explain himself. Riley gratefully settled into the chair. When Ben finished his proposition, roughly the same one he had given Ian in the car, Riley couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Ben, you’re fucking insane.”

Ian looked at him. “Riley, I’m surprised at you,” he said. Ben simply stared at him.

“I’m serious. You’re talking about straight up mad science here. That is not a good thing to have in the hands of the general public. Have you not seen any movies?!”

Ben creased his brow and tilted his head a little. “What do you mean, Riley?”

Ian scoffed in disbelief, leaning back. “Are you really this oblivious?”

“You know, I thought he was clueless before, but this is new,” Riley said to him.

“So are you guys not in?” Ben asked.

“We think you’re being foolish,” Ian replied. “How do you not understand this?”

“Because I believe whatever this thing is it should be in the hands of the people.”

“This isn’t a fucking treasure, Ben! We’re talking about something that could be a potential superweapon.”

“Or a way to save millions of lives.”

“Ben, you’re not paying attention here. This guy ran from the Soviet Union because of what he knew. And then he ran from the US government. You said it yourself. If the Good Doctor is scared enough of whatever this thing is, maybe we should leave it alone.”

“Riley’s right, Ben. We’re dabbling in incredibly dangerous territory. This is what I’ve been trying to impress upon you for the past half hour.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Shaw asked as he walked into the dining room for a glass of water.

“Shaw, I need your professional opinion.”

“On what?”

“Ben wants to find the secrets of some geneticist because the President told him to,” Riley replied succinctly.

Shaw hummed, taking the glass and sitting at the table between Ben and Ian. “Lemme guess,” he said, looking up. “You guys think he’s dangerous. He wants to help people and generally benefit humankind.”

“That’s basically the sum of it, yes,” Ian said.

Shaw sipped the water, clearly taking time to deliberate, and leaned on the table, folding his arms on top of it. “You two should work together,” he said. “Between Ben’s idealism and your guys’ voices of reason, you should eventually reach some kind of compromise about what to do. But between the two of you, I’m with Ben. If this shit that can be done with genetics had been in the open, nobody would’ve let Octagon get away with what they did.”

Ian closed his eyes and sighed, still emotional over the matter. “I need assurances that no one will make that kind of attempt again, I don’t care how far they get.”

“Ben, if you find this, you have a say in what happens to it, right?” Riley asked.

“Y-yeah,” Ben said.

Shaw nodded. “Good,” he said. “That way Ian gets what he wants and you get what you want. All you have to do is say…‘under no circumstances should this be used for such and such purposes’. Won’t stop everyone but people listen to you now. Or they did last I checked.”

“OK,” Ben said, and he looked at Ian. “Deal?” he asked.

“Well, I feel a bit better about this, but remember, the world is counting on you to keep your word,” Ian replied.

“I know.”

Ian sighed a little and leaned forward to shake his hand. “Then it’s a deal.”

“We’re really doing this,” Riley noted in disbelief, settling back in the chair and shifting to accommodate the sore spot in his back.

“Gettin’ dizzy yet?” Shaw asked him jocularly.

“A little bit.”


	7. 2016: Cupcakes and Consultations

Ben looked around a little as he walked down the street toward Georgetown Cupcake, where Ian and Shaw already stood waiting for him. “Hello, Ben,” he said, smiling and handing him a cupcake.

“Ian,” Ben said as he took the cupcake and they started walking down the street. Shaw fell into step behind them, already starting into his cupcake and looking around.

“How was your flight?”

“Long.”

Ian chuckled. “You at least had the sense to book first class, I hope.”

“Well, yeah, I mean, no one wants to spend a whole flight sandwiched between two obese sleeping men. And don’t get me started on the toddlers,” Ben said, laughing and shaking his head.

Ian laughed with him. “I’ll eat to that,” he replied, raising his cupcake as if in toast. Ben responded in kind, and Ian took a bite out of his. “So,” he said after he swallowed. “Considering everything that happened, what are you thinking?”

“I think we need a new angle. Something…a little less obvious, and dangerous.”

“Well, considering what we did to Verax a few months ago their striking back will take a much different form. We’ve got to move fast before they’re back to full power, though.”

“I know. That’s why I was about to call you when I saw your text.”

“So, what kind of new angle are you considering?”

“Track down the girlfriend.”

“Natasha de Silva.” Ben nodded, licking the frosting neatly off the top of his cupcake.

“Which you said was an alias. Any luck finding her real name?”

“We’ve been able to find several families in Sri Lanka named DeSilva, so I’m thinking ‘de Silva’ is a slight corruption.”

“To help mask her identity. Why?”

“In case the KGB found her family?” Ben replied with a shrug as he took a bite out of the cupcake.

“That’s a good enough reason on its own,” Ian conceded. “If it were me, I would alter my name to hell and back to protect myself and my loved ones from them.”

Ben nodded. “That’s true,” he said, looking across the street in a distracted, dreamy fashion.

“And you said then that she was with the doctor?”

“Yeah, from what records I could find they were deeply in love. Most every agent working the case commented on it.”

“I see.” Ian took another bite and stuffed one hand in his pocket as he looked at the sidewalk for a moment. “So tell me. What did you find out about their relationship?”

“Technically they were fiancés, or they were after the defection. He apparently promised her that once they got to America he would marry her. She even let slip that she wanted a daughter in one interview.”

“A daughter? Did she get her wish?”

Ben shrugged. “No one’s quite sure. Some say yes, some say no. Oh!” he said suddenly as he remembered something. “Someone passed this to me anonymously.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper folded into quarters. He unfolded it, revealing a printed out copy of a photograph. “According to the tipster, it’s a photograph of Dr. Litvenko with his then wife and three-year-old daughter.”

Ian took the photo with his free hand and studied it. “Did the tipster give the girl’s name? Or any names?”

“Not per se, just the doctor’s and Natasha. He apparently believed in keeping the identities of minors a secret.”

“Fair enough.” He hummed over the photograph, scrutinizing it a little and committing it to memory. With a finger, he indicated the girl. “She looks a little bit familiar.”

Ben gave a questioning hum and leaned over Ian’s shoulder, looking at the photo. “I think she looks like just another three-year-old,” he said.

“Lemme see,” Shaw said behind them, the first words he had spoken the entire duration of the conversation. They looked at him, and Ian held up the photo for him to see. Shaw dusted the crumbs off his hands and took the paper, studying it. “I’m not a betting man unless it’s strip poker,” he said, eliciting a smile from Ian, “but I agree with Ian. She definitely looks familiar.”


	8. 2016: Something Came Up

“You can’t be serious!” Riley said over the pone.

“Riley, we’re not sure yet. We just need you to run some software on the photograph,” Ben explained while he, Ian, and Shaw waited at a corner for a walk sign.

“Who do you think it is?”

Ben looked at Ian, who nodded as if to say, “Tell him.” He looked forward again and sighed. “Riley, we think it’s Katia.”

***

47 hummed questioningly as his phone rang, and he picked it up off the sofa and studied it a moment before answering. “Hello?”

“Toby,” a man said on the other end of the line. 47 recognized the voice almost at once.

“Why are you calling me?”

“Somethin’ came up we think might interest ya.”

“Oh? Then I suggest you tell me.”

“Ben was recruited by President Greenwood to look into somethin’ in the Book of Secrets, somethin’ about a man named Dr. Litvenko.”

“You’re right, this does interest me. Please continue.”

“Far as I can tell all anyone knows is about his defection from the Soviet Union with a woman named Natasha de Silva, an alias we’re sure. He eventually started a family here, and someone slipped Ben a copy of a family photograph.”

“I need to meet with you,” he said, before Shaw could continue. “All of you.” He glanced up at Katia, watching intently. “I’ll bring Katia, if she’ll allow it.”

“She with you?”

“Yes. We were spending the holidays together.”

“Nice. When can you expect to be here?”

47 held Katia’s gaze. “Two days?” he asked, as if to both parties. Katia nodded.

“Sounds good,” Shaw said.

47 hung up and looked at Katia. “Fancy a flight?” he asked.

“Yeah. What’s all going on?”

“Apparently the former president is interested in your father’s work,” 47 explained.

“To what end?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then we better make sure no one does anything stupid.”

“My thoughts exactly.”


	9. 2007: Family Conversations Over Dinner

Nicole hummed curiously as she watched Jackie pick at her food. “Are you still upset?” she asked.

Jackie looked up at her, then back at her food, humming noncommittally and shrugging. She forked a bite of fried rice, stared at it, and then stabbed the plate aimlessly again. Nicole set her fork down and leaned forward, resting a hand on her arm. “Hey, you came here to sort things out. You can tell me what’s wrong.”

“He hates me,” Jackie grumbled. “He just hates me, I’m sure of it. By now he’ll be pissed off that I left and no matter what I tell him as far as reasons go it won’t be good enough. He’ll demand to know why I’m too good to date him, and then he’ll never speak to me again and I’ll never get to find out if I really have feelings for him or not.”

“That’s…an odd thing to think about him. I don’t know him so you could be right, but…it’s still rather odd.”

“So what should I be thinking?”

“I won’t tell you that, but I’m…concerned.”

“About what?” Jackie asked, scoffing a little and looking up at her.

“About what you’re telling yourself. You think Riley is just like Cameron, and all those funny uncles you had before you escaped.”

“How do I know he’s not? Hell, what if he thinks I owe him after all this? What if he uses it as an excuse to—”

“Jackie.” She shut up. “Ian told me about Riley. He told me about the kind of man he is. Apparently Riley is a fucking nerd, but he’s not inherently evil.”

Jackie nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright, you’re confused. I’m just here to help set you straight. Trust me.”

Jackie looked at him, smiling a little. “Yeah I’m just confused as hell at this whole thing. I know I should probably talk to him but I’m not ready for that yet. And I want him to start feeling better. I mean it won’t be complete. Pinched nerves sound like a nightmare, but pain isn’t forever. Or at least in most cases it isn’t.”

Nicole smiled. “That’s the spirit,” she said, giving her a playful shove on the shoulder. Jackie smiled back and took a bite of fried rice. Nicole straightened in her seat and shuffled some food around. “Maybe what you really need is a distraction,” she offered.

“Like what?”

Nicole shrugged. “An adventure? A…”

“Treasure hunt?” Jackie laughed. “I don’t know about that, cuz. I mean the last time we went on any kind of adventure together he got hurt.”

“Then maybe go on a date,” she suggested with a smile. “Something fun and easy like scuba diving.”

Jackie laughed. “What, like the Great Barrier Reef?”

“Why not?” Nicole asked with a shrug. “Doesn’t it sound like fun?”

“I mean maybe but you know…what if he doesn’t like it? What if _I_ don’t like it?”

“I’m sure you two will reach an accord.”

Jackie looked at him, still smiling a little and not fully believing her, and returned her attention to the fried rice. Nicole smiled knowingly, leaned back, and said, “So, how are Ian and his crew holding up? Do they need any help with anything?”

“Not as far as I know. Oh, did you hear about Shaw?”

“…No. I mean I heard that he died…”

“Not…entirely true. He fell, a right nasty spill, too, and was recovered by some weird fucks who nursed him back to health and then tried to keep him hostage. Except he was having none of that and tried to get back to Ian instead. And he was successful at it, too. We had a right fun time trying to track down the bastards who did that to him, who, by the way, also made him.”

“…Made…him?”

“Shaw is…a genetic creation. Like a planned pregnancy on crack. Everything was probably carefully chosen and so forth and, well…the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on. Somebody took out a test tube and some base pairs and shit and…made Shaw?”

“Essentially, yeah.”

Nicole looked down the table and leaned back in her chair, wearing an expression that read, loud and clear, ‘This is way too weird’. “You’re serious.”

“You think I’d make this up?”

“Actually no. No, I don’t.” By her tone and expression Jackie could sense fear, and started to get a little concerned herself.

“Should I get Elena?”

“No,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “Just…” She took a deep breath and got up, retrieving a glass of water from the kitchen. She took a sip as she sat back down. “It sounds like something Mr. Dexter would do.”

Jackie paled and nodded. “I see,” she said, and she left the conversation at that by switching the topic to some strange thing Phil had come up with.


	10. 2016: Katia And 47 Fly To A Family Reunion In Spirit

Katia left a brief note for Martin before she left with her brother, explaining where she was going but leaving so little detail that she couldn’t be found by hostile forces, and she and 47 were on their way to the airport. She tried not to look back, but something kind of nagged at her. For whatever reason, she felt she should involve Martin in all this, if he was around. This felt like the sort of thing she would share with a man like him.

By the time they boarded, she was deeply distracted and in a quagmire of mixed feelings and questions, about whether she loved Martin, Dmitry, both, or neither, and if she would love Martin once he fully settled into his old identity and life, and all sorts of similar things. She sank into the first class seat, half-assing her way through a shrimp cocktail, and staring out the window.

“What are you thinking?” 47 asked her.

“Hmm?” she asked, looking up at him but not mustering much of a reaction.

“You’re distracted. What is it?”

“I was…I was thinking about Martin. I feel like he should’ve been back by now.”

“Then he decided to stay a little longer with his wife and son. An understandable choice.” Katia nodded curtly but said nothing. “So it’s something else.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m one of probably many women who loved him, even just a little bit once upon a time?” This time she looked at him and raised her voice a little.

“And it sounds like those old feelings are back.”

“What’s your bloody point?”

“I’m trying to resolve the point of your distraction so you can function better as an Agent.”

She looked at him, saying nothing for several moments. “Have you ever stopped to think that there’s a point at which you’re forever an Agent and no longer human?”

“What made you change your tune?”

“I’m having problems with whether I’m human or not. I’ve had these problems all my life but…they’re getting worse,” she finished, looking at her hands as she picked something absently. A hangnail? An imperfection on her nail? 47 noted the gesture and considered it for a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… it looks more and more like there’s a division between whether one is an Agent or one is fully human, and I…don’t know where that is.” She looked up at him, putting on a mask of defeated acceptance that was very much a lie and dropping her hands in her lap.

“What happened to ‘we determine who we are by what we do’?”

“What does a human _do_?” she asked as a counter. “Did the Nazis not exist? What about Stalin? Or Polpot? The gallery of humanity is full of shitty people, people who do what we do, except worse. Fuck…the people who made us…” She sighed and sank deep into the seat, staring off into space.

47 almost reached for her, and then he stopped himself, remembering her aversion to human touch. “If those people are human, then why aren’t we?” he asked.

“Because of the test tube thing,” she replied. “Have you noticed how many people have such strong aversion to calling test tube babies human? It’s like its own category. Everyone talks about it that way. It’s hard to escape from, especially now.”

“Because it’s true?” She looked away. “It’s best if you don’t run from it. If you figure out how to embrace it as well as you can.”

“Is that how you do it? Is that how you handle your job?”

“Yes, for the most part. I consider it my work and that’s the end of it.”

Katia closed her eyes and sighed before opening them again. “You’re OK with…how you were born?”

“I do my best.” He looked ahead, leaning back in the seat a little and closing his eyes. Katia glanced at him, knowing he intended to sleep, and she stared out the window.

***

They landed approximately two and a half hours later, and 47 stirred easily from his nap. Katia swore he was like a cat, going from deep sleep to wakefulness in an instant. She stretched as she followed him out into the aisle. When they got off the plane they breezed through John F Kennedy International. It took Katia a second to remember that they didn’t bring much with them, and most of it was in her carryon bag. She adjusted it on her shoulder and looked around. The airport was busy and crowded. She was certain she could hear someone yelling about how he needed to be on a particular flight “yesterday” and so forth, but it was nothing of great importance. A bald man she immediately recognized as Shaw held up a sign for “Tobias and Sophia” in the crowd of people awaiting incoming passengers. Katia nodded to him, and she and 47 approached.

“Glad you could make it,” Shaw said. “Flight was boring I hope.”

“Nothing to report,” 47 replied as they followed Shaw to the door. “Can you tell us about this matter involving Dr. Litvenko?”

“Ah, mate, Ben and Ian can tell ya more. They’re the ones with the photograph.”

“Photograph?” Katia asked, stepping forward at once. “What photograph?”

“Of two proud parents and their toddling daughter,” Shaw replied without breaking stride. “The father was identified to us as Dr. Litvenko, and we were given the mother’s alias. Natasha de Silva was the name they used.”

“Who sent you this? Why did they have it? Where did they get it?”

“Katia,” 47 said, holding up a hand to silence her.

“It’s a’ight,” Shaw said. “We think she’s the toddler in the photo anyway, so she’s got a right to know these things.” He tilted his head ever so slightly to Katia. “We don’t know.”

Katia huffed a little, looking down and almost biting her lip. This was definitely a weird feeling, being close to someone who knew about her parents but not knowing who that person was.

“We’ve got an email address, if that helps, and we’re tryin’ to reach our man who can figure out who’s behind it.”

“Alright,” she said, though it certainly eased a little tension for her. 47 gave her a slightly worried look but said nothing.

“For now we want you to look at the photo, see what you can tell us.” By now they walked out the door and turned onto the sidewalk, passing a long line of taxis and waiting cars and buses. Katia was already wondering about the implications of this photograph and whatever Ben was looking for. She almost didn’t want to think.


	11. 2016: Katia Strikes A Deal

Ian invited Katia and 47 to sit around a table in the back of a swanky restaurant, isolated and with privacy guaranteed from the owner himself. Ian had clearly been enjoying his restored fortune, Katia figured as she settled in and looked around. “Forgive me if I don’t wish to make small talk,” she said to Ben. “I want to get through this as quickly as possible. It’s a…tricky subject for me.”

Ben nodded. “Alright,” he said, removing his hand from his face and unfolding the paper before turning it toward her across the table. He may have been talking, he may not have been; she was too engrossed in the photograph to tell. It was grainy and she could tell it had been through several layers of copying by the time it reached her hands, but it was still as clear as day to her. She was there, in the middle, about two and a half years old. On her right was her father, in an old military uniform. She didn’t know he had a rank of any sort anywhere, but it made sense considering his origins. On her left was… _her_. Krista Anne DeSilva, in a black turtleneck and wearing her long dark hair in a ponytail draped over her shoulder. They both had such bright smiles, though this younger version of Katia seemed a little bit bothered by the camera, or tired, or confused.

Her thumbs ran over the faces of her parents, and she felt something streak down her face. It took her a moment to realize she was crying. Out of the corner of her eye she detected 47 reaching out to touch her arm, and she jerked back almost at once, a little too hard. For a moment she panted, struggling to collect herself, and 47 held his phone out to her. “It’s for you,” he said simply. She nodded and took it, getting to her feet and looking around the restaurant.

“Hello?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“Do you know what I had to go through to get this number?” demanded an accented voice on the other end of the line. She figured he was in his eighties or so, and Russian by the sound of it.

“May I ask why you went to all that effort?” she asked, tentatively reaching for 47’s shoulder. She could feel another harsh blow coming, and she wanted to be ready. 47 allowed her to lean on his shoulder slightly.

“It came to my attention that you know a certain…Alexei Volkov.”

Katia couldn’t help but scoff. “I don’t know any Alexei Volkov.”

“But you do. Does…Dmitry Petrovich sound familiar?”

There it was, just as Katia knew it would be, and she could feel herself blanch. She took a deep, silent breath to compose herself. “And what if it does?”

“This is a known legend of Alexei Volkov.”

“You’re lying to me.”

“How are you so certain?”

“Don’t believe me, talk to John’s brother.”

Ian looked up, as did everyone else, and Katia removed her hand from 47’s shoulder. She smiled at Ian, knowing that Ivanenko was as puzzled as she had been. She had gained the upper hand, for now. She handed the phone to Ian, who stood to take it and then walked around the table, halfway between them and the nearest other individuals in the restaurant. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“And you are…?” Ivanenko asked in response. He sounded a little bit unsettled to Ian.

“My name is Ian Howe, and I was told that you’re claiming to have custody of my brother. Do I have that correct?”

“I have custody of a man named Alexei Volkov! I do not know any…John Howe.”

“And I don’t know any Alexei Volkov either. So either double-check your records or start telling me the truth.”

Ivanenko stuttered a little on the other end of the line, clearly befuddled, and Ian settled into a confident stance. Ian felt a small smile starting to form. “I know he is Alexei. I also know he is Dmitry Petrovich and many other legends.”

“Then you are greatly mistaken. Either that or someone somewhere along the line has gotten their paperwork mixed up.”

“Then who do I have custody of?”

“John Howe. I’m rather sure of it in fact. And you can get in touch with his former organization if you’re still so…hopelessly confused.” He was teasing lightly, and he turned back to the party he was eating with. He hung up on the man, and he handed the phone back to 47. “That was unusual,” he said as he sat back down.

“What’d he want?” Ben asked.

“I’m not sure, but he kept insisting that a man named Alexei Volkov is tied to the cover of Dmitry Petrovich, when it should be obvious that that’s not true. I mean last I checked my family’s not Russian, at least not for quite some time.”

“You think he’s confused your brother with someone else?” Katia asked.

“Potentially. Dementia does strange things to a person in old age.” Ian leaned back a little and folded his arms across his chest.

Katia sighed a little and returned to her seat. “First things first,” she said. “This photograph and…whatever you’re looking for.”

“Well, we don’t exactly know,” Ben said. “We think it has something to do with Dr.… your father’s work.”

“Have you been informed how dangerous this is?” 47 asked.

“Yes,” Ian said tersely. “By myself and by Riley as well.”

“Going forward was my idea,” Shaw volunteered.

“May I ask why?” 47 asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“My theory is you let something like this out into the wild, you get a whole bunch of people who will pounce on you or otherwise speak up if you try to do something evil.” Katia nodded, already picking up on the fact that he knew very well what he was dealing with. “Somebody’s gonna be policing somebody, that’s for sure, and the more people know what’s up, the more likely when something gets out, whomever’s behind it will get publicly shamed.”

“At least,” Ian added, glancing briefly at Shaw as he spoke.

Katia glanced at 47, who nodded slightly. “We want in,” she said to the table at large.

Ben looked at them, almost ready to ask, “Are you sure about that?” when Ian looked at him. Ben looked at him.

“This is intimately connected to her family,” Ian reasoned. “She has more right to it than either of us.”

“Mr. Howe is right,” 47 said, to Ben directly. “I want to amend my sister’s statement to add that the two of us,” his hands did not move but it was clear who he meant, “are to be given final say regarding whatever is found.”

Ben leaned back, his hand on his chin, as he considered them.

Ian looked at Ben. “It’s fine with me,” he said.

Ben nodded. “Alright,” he said. “You get in, and final say with what happens with the treasure. Sound good?”

“Unless 47 or I have any other conditions…” Katia began, looking at him. 47 shook his head slightly. “You’ve got yourself a deal,” she said, holding out her hand to Ben. He shook it. 47 followed Katia’s lead, and Ben shook his hand, as well.


	12. 2007: Riley Goes Back To Work

Riley sat in the cushy armchair while Ben paced back and forth and Ian studied his notes on the matter before them. “Any idea exactly _what_ we’re supposed to be looking for?” he couldn’t help but ask, his voice dripping with more sarcasm than usual.

“We can only assume the man’s work continued after he fled to the US,” Ben explained. “See, Dr. Litvenko vanished three years after his defection, either to another company or to his own start-up. If Octagon is any indication, then this kind of work certainly continued, with or without him.”

“Or both,” Ian offered, not looking up.

“Or both,” Ben repeated, still pacing. “But, if he sold his work, there would’ve been some kind of record of it, and the CIA at the very least would’ve known about it. There’s no record of such a thing.”

“So we think he kept working independently on his pet project.”

“Is…that where he is now?” Riley asked.

“We don’t know,” Ben said.

“What about his girlfriend?” In response, Ian passed him the top page of a CIA file for one of their agents. “Where did you get this?” he asked.

“I had to pull a few strings,” Ben replied. “It helps to tell people there that the President himself is sanctioning your independent treasure hunt.”

“Clearly they didn’t let you go with all the goods.” Riley studied the page, heavily redacted, revealing only the name ‘Natasha de Silva’ in the ‘Alias’ column and a few nonessential details of her life and work: Born in Colombo, Sri Lanka, to a military family based there, technically making her a US citizen; a blood type and other personal physical details; and a few transition words in brief summaries of some of her missions. Everything else was an endless abyss of black marker. “Get me a computer,” he said, shifting in his seat and handing the paper back to Ian. “I’ll get you a better version.”

“No, Riley,” Ben said.

“Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Stealing the Declaration wasn’t too dangerous? Kidnapping the President?”

Ian looked up. “This sounds like a story I should hear,” he said with a light smirk.

“Maybe later,” Ben said to him. He looked at Riley. “Hacking the CIA is…”

“A whole new level? Yeah, I know,” Riley said succinctly, lightly. He shifted again, clearly struggling to find some kind of comfortable position for what essentially amounted to a bump hip.

Ian looked at Ben. “It can’t hurt anything,” he said.

“Besides, you know, getting us arrested and neatly tucked away at Guantanamo,” Ben replied bluntly. Ian laughed a little.

“I’ll be careful,” Riley said. “You don’t know what I was doing in that cubicle, do you?”

“Do we want to know?” Ian asked jocularly.

“Probably not,” Ben and Riley said at once. They glanced at each other, and then Riley looked away. It was Ian who then leaned to the side, pulling a laptop out of an obscure corner and handing it to him.

“Should be fully charged,” he said.

“Thank you,” Riley chirped dryly as he opened the laptop. His first order of business was in the terminal, and almost instantly he was lost to the world.

“Doesn’t that freak you out?” Ian asked Ben quietly.

Ben merely shrugged. “You get used to it.”


	13. 2007: Business As Usual

Nicole hummed over her paperwork, making a few notes and rolling her eyes at some obvious idiocy on the part of one of her “employees”, leaving an appropriately angry note for him and moving on, ready to find yet more dumb mistakes when her phone rang. “ _Bonsoir_ ,” she said cheerily.

“ _Bonsoir_ to you, too,” Ian replied lightly, laughing a bit. “How are you?”

“Alright, alright. Jackie is settling in, lost in dark thoughts. I’m doing my best to keep her afloat but I think she needs a distraction.”

“I think I have just the thing.”

“Oh?”

“We’re looking for someone.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“A spy.”

“Oh. That changes everything.” Nicole leaned back in her chair. “What is the…nature…of this search?”

“Cyber.”

Nicole nodded. “Alright. I don’t know anyone who can be of much help,” who didn’t already owe her money, “but I remember you telling me how good she is at breaking into things, if need be.”

“That might be a possibility.”

“Then maybe she should start practicing.”

“Good plan.”

“I’ll tell her. Call again when you need her and she should be ready enough by then.” Nicole couldn’t help but smile. “Also, if this is as big as you suggest it is I recommend mobilizing back-up forces. I can provide you shelter if you like.”

“For now that won’t be necessary, thank you.”

“Let us know when it is.”

“Will do. Send Elena my regards, will you?”

“You know she loves hearing from you.”

“News to me,” Elena said without a hitch as she walked into the office. Nicole looked up, surprised at her sudden entrance. Elena simply placed a file on her desk, turned to face her, and Nicole looked down at it.

“Wonderful, thank you,” Ian said. Nicole replied neutrally and hung up, now able to devote her full attention to the file.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking up at Elena.

“Some red-eyed bugger left this for us,” Elena replied.

“Red-eyed? Colored contacts?” Elena shook her head. “Did he say what this was for?”

“He said we…needed it.”

Nicole pursed her lips and hummed. _What was it for?_ , she asked herself, and she decided the best way to find out was to open the file.

Almost at once she asked, “What the devil is Ensign?”


	14. 2016: Martin Grows A Pair

Martin groaned, rolling himself off his cot and stumbling toward the door. “You have a visitor, Mr. Volkov,” the guard said. Martin had long given up insisting that that was not his name, and simply asked who it was. The guard shook his head, instead opening the cell door and escorting him down another long, poorly lit hall. He suspected he was headed to another torture chamber, though he had stopped remembering those, as well. He could feel some of his legends surfacing, as if ready to shoulder the burden for him. He couldn’t blame them. But then he found that they were turning down somewhere unfamiliar. They retreated, and he started getting curious.

Perhaps that was a huge mistake. A guard at a door nodded to his escort, and his escort let him into a room with even furnishings, for once. “What’s all this?” he quipped. “A reward for good behavior?” The guards said nothing, so he turned to his only companion in the room: Ivanenko.

“Alexei,” he said, and he nodded to the chair across from him. Martin sat without saying anything. “You said that girl Katia could vouch for you,” Ivanenko continued. “She doesn’t even recognize you.”

“You used the name you gave me,” Martin replied, leaning back in the chair. “She doesn’t know me by that name.”

“You _are_ Alexei Volkov.”

Martin pursed his lips and shook his head. He’d held out this far, about halfway through a bitter Russian winter. He could keep pushing forward if he needed to, for as long as it took. He continued to watch the man in front of him, feeling something click into place internally. “I think I figured it out,” he said after a moment.

Ivanenko watched him intently, narrowing his eyes a little. “What have you…figured out?” he asked somewhat mockingly.

“You want to break me, to convince me. You know I don’t remember my past, so you’re trying to replace it with another legend. To what end, you might be asking yourself. To the end of finally having that… _perfect_ double agent. The one you’ve coveted for your whole career. You wanted to make me that man because you knew I was weak. But you weren’t expecting me to be strong enough to see through your lies, and last this long. Otherwise you wouldn’t still be working this case.” Ivanenko watched him, expecting him to continue. “You haven’t released that clip of Kate yet, have you. You’re still holding onto it, waiting for me to change my mind.”

“You must think you’re clever.”

Martin watched him. “Where am I wrong?” he simply asked.

“I said nothing of the sort.” Martin let himself smirk. “It doesn’t change your current situation.”

“It does. I know exactly why you’re doing this. That changes a great deal, I’d say.”

“Yes. It makes you snarky, disrespectful.”

“You haven’t earned my respect to begin with. You fed me lies and expected me to believe you. How does that behavior garner respect?” Ivanenko glared at him. “I said Katia could vouch for me, but I said nothing about Alexei Volkov. Because I don’t know anything at all about Alexei Volkov.”

Ivanenko shook his head, but Martin held up a hand before he could insist again that he was Alexei Volkov.

“You’ll just continue to lie to me again,” he said bluntly. “Now, I could find a way to get in touch with your superiors and tell them you’re holding me under a delusion, and I’m sure they’ll retire you after that in favor of someone more…sharp. But you don’t want that.”

“So what do you want?”

“Let me go, release the clip of Kate, with her face blurred, and when someone asks, tell them you made an honest mistake. If that won’t get you shot.”

“What do I get out of this?”

“An untarnished reputation, or at least one that is tarnished in a respectable manner rather than an unrespectable one.” Martin realized at this point that he was starting to sound like Ian. Was that a result of the time they spent together working on his apartment and other things, or was it something considerably older? He could work on that later, once he was returned to his cell, if that was going to happen.

Ivanenko gave him a level glare and said, “Go to hell.” Somehow this didn’t faze Martin at all; it was the same refusal he had given Ivanenko when he first proposed his deal.

“You’ll regret this,” Martin said as the guards came and pulled him unceremoniously to his feet. He went along with it, having long learned the value of cooperation, especially with these men.

They guided him forcefully back to his cell, his escort from earlier threatening that, “You shouldn’t have pulled that stunt,” but Martin didn’t reply. The man wrenched open the door to his cell and shoved him inside. Martin staggered a few paces before landing on the floor, his palms scraping slightly on impact. The door slammed shut behind him, and he took a few deep breaths, trying to collect himself. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the bare light bulb above him, panting a little and wondering what the hell just happened.


	15. 2016: Ian Formulates A Plan

47’s phone vibrated again, waking him from a peaceful sleep on the couch in the suite he shared with his sister. He frowned, recognizing the number from the day before in the restaurant, and answered. “What do you want?”

“Where is Katia?”

“You’re not talking to her this time.” He shook his head a little.

“Why not? I thought she could ‘vouch’ for Alexei Volkov.” His tone was challenging, and 47 recognized the bait and refused to bite.

“No one knows of any Alexei Volkov. We’ve been over this. If you are referring to your prisoner Martin Odum, then that is not his real name. I can’t tell if you’re tricking yourself, lying for an agenda, or you truly believe what you’re saying.”

“I’m certain of it.”

“Which settles nothing for me. Perhaps you should consider the possibility that the man you have custody of is not Alexei Volkov as you so ardently claim?”

The man paused. “No,” he simply said, and he hung up. 47 looked at his phone, shaking his head a little and setting it to the side again.

***

Ian poured himself a healthy glass of wine and walked over to the sofa in the living room of the large suite he shared with Shaw, currently perched there with his arm around the back. Ian walked over to the couch and sank into it with a thick sigh, and Shaw moved his arm to Ian’s shoulders, playing his fingertips gently across Ian’s upper arm. Ian took a sip and leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees and staring ahead. Shaw rested his hand on Ian’s back. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked.

Ian sighed a little, pursing his lips and taking his time to think before looking at Shaw. “I’m almost certain something’s happened to Martin,” he said. “Add to that my near complete certainty that at the end of Ben’s little pet project is another Octagon situation, and I don’t know which to take care of first.” He sighed, taking another drink from his glass and rocking his shoulders a little.

Shaw looked at him. “Let Ben do his thing. He’ll get it all worked out. You should worry about Martin.”

Ian looked at Shaw. “My only concern is leaving Ben to the wolves like last time.”

“They can’t retaliate the way they could then.”

Ian sighed a little and leaned back, feeling Shaw’s hand slide over his shoulder as he leaned into the man, resting his head on Shaw’s shoulder. “I’ll send the others to keep an eye on him,” he said finally. “You come with me and try to rescue Martin, the other boys keep Ben out of trouble…it should work.”

“Don’t forget Jackie. She’ll want to be on hand if Riley is going anywhere, and you know Riley will be going somewhere if Ben is involved. I swear he follows Ben everywhere. I’m not sure why.”

Ian snickered a little. “Yeah, that’s true. I don’t know his reasons, either, but I don’t really care.” He took a sip and closed his eyes, exhaling. “The man was Russian,” he added, as if nonsensically. “The one who has Martin and claims he is Alexei Volkov.”

“A man with that kind of belief shouldn’t be hard to find, in the right circles.”

“Well we know he used to be a spy for MI6, and…we know he worked for the FBI before he was forced to run.” Ian sat up. “Who did he work under in the FBI, do you know?”

Shaw looked up at him, folding his eyebrows. “…Not…not off the top of my head. You think we should ask Riley to find out or will he be too busy with this?”

“There must be another way,” Ian said, shaking his head and leaning forward again. He mulled over his next words while he let the wine sit in his mouth, before swallowing and continuing, “Sadusky.”

“Who?”

“Ben’s FBI contact,” he explained, looking over his shoulder at Shaw. “I have personal experience with him, he’s a good man. Once we explain this all to him he’ll be willing to help.”

“You sure?”

Ian considered again. “About eighty percent, but I like those odds.” He finished with a grin.


	16. 2016: Ian Cooperates With Police

Agent Sadusky was just about to put on his coat and head home for the day when Agent Spellman knocked on his door. He sighed. “Yes?” he asked.

“A Mr. Ian Howe and …Shaw… here to see you, sir,” she said.

“What’d they do this time?” he quipped.

“Actually it’s about my brother,” Ian said, putting his hands in his pockets while the agent stepped aside. Sadusky looked at him.

“Come in,” he said, and the two men walked into the office. Spellman closed the door behind them, and Ian and Shaw settled into the two guest chairs. Ian crossed his legs and folded his hands in front of them, neatly resting them on his knee. “What’s up with your brother, Mr. Howe?”

“In short, we think he’s been kidnapped by the Russians.”

“Russians?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows. Ian nodded.

“A…stranger placed a call to Katia, asking about a certain Alexei Volkov. We have been able to determine that the man was really referring to my brother, whose real name is John Howe, and this is a fact I am willing to prove definitively.” Sadusky nodded. “The man seemed absolutely convinced, at least very adamant, that my brother is really this Volkov character. I have a friend who believes this individual is in his eighties and may be suffering from dementia.”

“And this individual has Martin?” Sadusky asked, to which Ian nodded. “You have a name? Or a phone number?”

“Well, I know he called from this number,” Ian said, writing down a string of digits he kept in his mind for one because it was a Russian number and for another because of the oddity of the situation. He handed the paper to Sadusky, who studied it and hummed.

“That helps a lot, Mr. Howe,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’m not the person to be talking to about this.” Before Ian could ask what he meant, Sadusky was already leaning over to his phone and placing an internal call. “Mr. Gates?” he asked.

Ian frowned, looking at Shaw. “Mr. Gates?” he mouthed. “Our Mr. Gates?” But Shaw shook his head.

“Our Gates is a doctor, remember?” he replied in a whisper. Ian nodded in understanding, deciding he was too used to thinking of Ben as either ‘Ben’ or ‘Gates’ and not really up to date on his academic recognition.

“Yes, it’s about Odum,” Sadusky was saying. “Foxtrot Echo Zulu. … Yeah, I understand. … Gentleman here named Howe, has proof he’s Odum’s brother and believes he’s been kidnapped by Russians.” Sadusky started, and Ian guessed that this man Gates had hung up.

“I…think he’s gonna book a flight,” Sadusky said, leaning back. “You wanna hang out here for the next two and a half hours or hit up something going on around town?”

Ian and Shaw looked at each other before looking at Sadusky again.

***

“I must say, Mr. Howe, I’m impressed,” Sadusky said as he wiped his mouth on a fancy napkin. Ian smiled at him.

“I’m glad you’re impressed,” he said, and Shaw smiled a little and took a sip of wine.

“I almost wanna ask what you want.”

Ian laughed a little. “Oh I’m just here to help find my brother. Russians are nasty buggers.”

“That is true.” Sadusky proceeded to cut another bite of steak, and he looked at Shaw. “So, you’re Shaw,” he said. “It’s nice to finally meet you. When I first met Ian he told me a lot about you.”

Shaw looked at Ian. “You did?” he couldn’t help but ask. Ian blushed, looking away. Shaw grinned, laughing a little and kissing Ian on the cheek before he could change his mind. “I kind of guessed but you know it’s nice to hear,” he said to Sadusky, who merely nodded as if to say it was alright.

“So how long have you been back?”

Shaw glanced at Ian, hissing a little. “Oh…almost ten years.”

“This is just the first time either of us have needed to talk to you about something,” Ian supplemented after swallowing a bite of steak. 

“I see. Well, very belated welcome back.”

“Thank you,” Shaw said.

“Now, Mr. Howe,” Sadusky said, returning his attention to Ian. “It would help an awful lot…if you could tell us what you know about your brother.”

“Where to start?” Ian asked, laughing a little. “We’re twins, so when we were younger we switched identities all the time to mess with the people around us, as twins do. Our parents also fought a lot, about money and a lot of other things. John was sent to boarding school—”

“John is…Martin, correct?” Sadusky asked.

Ian nodded. “Yep. And he was sent away to some obscure school for an education, it was a real financial bind and our mother would not let our father live it down. The fighting escalated after he was accepted—using my test scores mind you—all sorts of yelling about ‘how are we going to pay for this’ and this, that, the other thing. I retreated into books and trying not to worry about what my brother was going through. I know how boys are, I know he would’ve been picked on relentlessly by his peers and severely intimidated by his teachers. But something was off. When he came back after that first year, age ten, something…changed.”

Sadusky leaned back in his chair and watched him, the steak all but forgotten. “Tell me more about that,” he said.

“He alternated, between acting out violently and hiding away. Even his voice changed a little. Sometimes it was assertive, full of swagger, sometimes he adopted a completely different accent altogether, with a stutter.”

“A stutter?”

Ian nodded. “I suppose that’s a significant detail?”

“We’ll see. Carry on.”

“Alright. He must have picked up on the increased conflict at home, because the first thing he did was try to run away. I found him hiding in a neighbor’s tree house, reading James Bond. _Casino Royale_ , I believe.”

“A bit extreme for a ten year old boy, don’t you think?”

“Nothing I’m sure he wasn’t already familiar with. I managed to talk him back home, and I suppose what happened later was in part my fault. You see, at some point over the summer break, the fighting got to him. He lit off a Molotov cocktail in the living room, nearly setting the house on fire, injuring our father but leaving our mother unharmed.”

“I assume the police were called.”

“Oh everyone was there. Medical personnel, fire department, police, reporters, attorneys, neighbors, everyone. I don’t know what came over me, but I lied to the police. I told them a black-clad stranger had done it for reasons I couldn’t fathom. I rattled off a generic description of build, trying to explain everything I could. I felt like I was watching myself from the outside, and later I feared that I would succumb to the same illness that had my brother. But that never happened. I didn’t commit another crime until I was fifteen, when I learned how to launder money for a peer who feared he’d get caught selling drugs to all his friends.”

“You realize you just admitted to committing two crimes to a federal officer, right?” Sadusky asked.

“I know. But as far as I know, London’s not your jurisdiction,” Ian said with a slight smile.

Sadusky smiled back. “Touché. So what happened to your brother after that? After you covered his ass for the cops?”

“He hid himself away for almost a week, still reading Casino Royale. Later I found notes he wrote in the blank pages in the back. He wrote down everything about characters named Dante Auerbach and Lincoln Dittmann. He imagined them as characters in Ian Fleming’s work, but I recognized details that had manifested: the stutter, the violent behavior. I realized he was writing about himself, about the people who had begun to share his head to help him deal with things. I went in his place when the break was over. His…changes…seemed to subside, and I learned to fight. I fought hard, and I got myself expelled. After that I joined him in what you would call a public school, where I excelled at two things: beating people up, and maths.”

“He’s selling himself short,” Shaw interjected, and then swallowed a bit of steak and excused himself. “Top marks, this man,” he continued, clapping Ian on the shoulder and smiling. “In almost everything.”

“I hated my PE teacher,” Ian explained with a smile.

Sadusky smiled politely before returning to the matter at hand. “What happened after that?”

“Well, he leveled out and started blossoming in school. He had a real passion for languages, including codes. He was damned good at them, too. It was he who taught me this old code that had been passed down in our family since the American Rebellion. He developed other skills related to this, and was scouted by Six.” Ian smiled a little with pride at this fact. “He jumped at the opportunity, and I can’t blame him: traveling the world, cultivating skills he loved, doing something useful with his time. The perks are quite many to a kid from a council housing project, to say nothing of the pay.”

“I take it at this point information is above your pay grade.”

“Yeah. Besides I didn’t ask. I was busy cultivating my own work.”

“And messing about with me for seven years,” Shaw said.

“Not entirely by choice, mind you. Of all things to go to jail for, buggery was not an ideal option.”

“I see,” Sadusky said.

“In any event, I did see John every once in a blue moon. He came home to let off some steam and get back to reality for a while before going on missions again. And then one day in 2004, I wanted to touch base with him before I followed Ben to the bloody Arctic Circle, but I couldn’t reach him. I didn’t think much of it then, but I wouldn’t see hide or hair of him for eleven years. I about gave him up for dead.”

“No one contacted you?”

Ian shook his head. “No. And looking back, I honestly have no idea why.”


	17. 2016: Nelson Gates Arrives To A Legal Nightmare

Nelson Gates marched through the Hoover Building in D.C. with Sonya Odum, just as determined as he was, and Maggie Harris, nervous but trying to hold it together, in tow. They reached Sadusky’s office with little impediment and less fanfare, and the somewhat awkward end result was an angry Agent Gates hissing at Sadusky about, “Russians? You let Russians get to him?!”

“In his defense,” Ian said, stepping between them and holding up his hands, “he had nothing to do with it. I only came to him because I had no idea who you were.”

“I am Martin Odum’s commanding officer, witness protection agent, and personally responsible for his welfare,” Nelson replied, getting in Ian’s face.

“And I’m his brother.” Ian’s bluntness and offer of a handshake caught Nelson off guard a little, and he stepped back, still glaring.

“We’re on the same team here,” Sadusky said. “Everyone in this room has a personal stake in finding Agent Odum.”

Nelson Gates sighed and took a step back, looking at Sadusky. “Where are we so far?” he asked.

“Mr. Howe was kind enough to tell me about your agent’s past back in London.” Sadusky glanced at Ian. “Care to fill him in?” Ian nodded slightly and cleared his throat, before laying out for Nelson Gates what he had told Agent Sadusky over a steak dinner. Gates watched him, at first confused and skeptical, before realizing about halfway through that the only way this character could know all that is if he truly was Odum’s twin brother. Or maybe it was that he knew Odum didn’t know all this on his own and was therefore more vulnerable to whatever the Russians were trying to do to him. Based on what Agent Sadusky had told him, he guessed it was, convince Odum that he was this Alexei Volkov character and use that as a way to turn him against his country. Or countries, as the case may be.

Ian finished, clearing his throat and grabbing a paper cup by the water cooler to fill with a little water. Nelson glanced at Sadusky. “Anything else?” he asked.

“That’s why I called you. Officially, this isn’t my department, but I know Mr. Howe, he knows me, and clearly he knows Agent Odum. And…he gave me this,” Sadusky said, passing him the slip of paper with the phone number on it. “This is the number the unknown Russian called from.”

“So he called international,” Gates said, scrutinizing the number for a bit before passing it to Maggie. She nodded, with a small, “On it, sir,” and turned to the door. Sadusky stood and followed her to the door, turning to Agent Hendrix and asking for a computer to be freed up for her to work form. He closed the door behind them and returned to his desk.

“So while Maggie is looking for that—” Nelson began, but Sonya cut him off.

“What do we do?” she demanded. “We can’t just sit here and let whatever’s happening to Martin…keep happening.”

“Well, where’s Katia?” Ian asked.

“Who?” Sonya replied, lifting her eyebrows and lowering her voice a little.

“Katia,” Ian explained without backing down. “She and Martin have been working on renovating his shabby-arse apartment for over two months before the holidays started. They seem to be quite good friends.”

“Oh. Like his ‘good friends’ on his missions?”

“Oh no, nothing like that, but you seem awfully defensive about it.”

“Oi! I thought we were on the same side here!” Shaw interjected.

“Shaw’s right,” Sadusky said. “We can get this all sorted out after we find Agent Odum. For now can we table everything until he is recovered?” he asked pointedly, lifting his eyebrows. Sonya sighed and took a small step back. Ian loosely clasped his hands in front of him and looked at Sadusky as if to wordlessly say, “You’re in charge.” Sadusky sighed. “Now tell me. How did you…find Martin?” he asked, looking at Nelson Gates.

“MI6 tipped us off that he was in danger in Iraq, and we found him at a war hospital in Germany. Sad thing is someone else found him too, so we had to be careful getting him out, before things went sour, and we couldn’t risk losing him,” Nelson replied.

“I…was the agent responsible for his retrieval,” Sonya continued. “I called myself his wife to help him get out and…to protect him. I knew that if he remembered what happened, and why, he would be in great danger.”

“From whom?” Sadusky asked.

“From a company known as Verax,” Nelson replied, picking up the thread again. “The chief military contractor for the United States Army…”

“…and incredibly shady, I know. I haven’t trusted them for years.”

“Then you’re in luck,” Ian said with a smile. His hands had moved to his pockets, and he rocked on his feet ever so slightly as he spoke.

“Oh?” Sadusky asked, raising his eyebrows and looking at Ian. “Any more crimes we need to know about?”

Nelson looked at Sadusky, as if to ask, “What?!” before looking back at Ian, clearly curious and a little terrified.

“Oh, nothing,” Ian said. “Hacking, grand theft to the tune of…fuck…several billion pounds…it’s truly an abstract concept to me, I’m afraid to say. I’ve lost track. Also the contracted murders of Jason Shaw and Director Spiller. And five others who were primarily accidental, I’ve been told.”

“Why are you telling all this to us?” Nelson asked.

“When it comes to finding my brother I have nothing to lose,” Ian replied. “Also this is in general how I operate in the world, which I’ve found is considerably more effective than what you lot would’ve done.”

“And what _would_ we have done?”

“Tap-danced around for a few months looking for ‘leads’, which we all know are really just excuses to waste taxpayer money. I’ve really just saved you lot about a year’s worth of time.”

Sadusky and Nelson Gates looked at each other, cocking eyebrows at each other, before looking at Ian again.

“…Anything else we need to know?” Nelson asked.

Ian glanced at Sadusky. “Besides small details? Not that I’m aware of.”

“Small details?”

“You probably don’t want to know,” Sadusky cut in, looking at Nelson. “You’re in the company of the premiere crime boss of London.” Ian smiled proudly and nodded. Beside him, Shaw smiled a little, also nodding slightly. Nelson looked at them, lifting an eyebrow. Did he want to pursue this? He decided against it.

“For now let’s focus on finding Martin, OK?” Sonya offered, before the conversation derailed completely into her newly discovered brother-in-law’s lengthy criminal record.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Sadusky said.


	18. 2016: Katia Assists The Treasure Hunt

Ben looked from his papers to Katia in particular, though now she was seated with Riley, Abigail, and Jackie around a cluttered table. “This woman, are you sure this is your mother?” he asked her.

“Without a doubt,” Katia replied. “But I’m afraid to say that she’s already dead, has been since I was three.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Katia took a deep breath and leaned over the notes, scanning each piece of paper and old photograph. “Where did you find all these?”

“Most of it was me,” Riley said, raising his hand a little. Katia looked at him. “I…hack. It’s kind of my thing.”

“I see. I trust you’re careful?” she said with a small, barely visible smile.

“I try to be,” he replied.

“Good,” she said, and she returned her attention to the notes and photographs. It was truly an impressive collection of documents about the defection and his subsequent “settling in” in America and making sure he wasn’t a sleeper agent in disguise. But there was nothing on the Agent Program. Officially all the records stopped just before 1967 started, and Katia gave a somewhat disappointed huff.

“Whatever you’re looking for it isn’t in here,” she said tersely, leaning back in her chair and huffing slightly, folding her arms across her chest.

“Well…” Ben began slowly, his hand still over his mouth. “Is there anything you can tell us that’s not here?”

“I don’t remember much,” Katia admitted, after a moment and a drink from a cup of water. “I remember drives through the forest, often in the winter. One resulted in…the death of my mother. The building itself was…some kind of old boarding house or asylum. It was brick, but I can’t remember exact aesthetic details. There was a cast iron gate to a brick fence, and maybe a garden, I’m not sure. I don’t remember where this place was. When my father left me, when men came for him and he fled, I hid under some…grate…for hours on end. I didn’t leave until it was dark and I was sure they were gone. A truck driver picked me up on the road about three hours later, and told me he was heading to Kentucky.”

“Ouch,” Riley said into the settling silence.

Ben glanced at him and then looked back at Katia. Abigail shifted awkwardly, simultaneously wanting to comfort Katia and not sure if it would even be welcome. The woman seemed equally used to it and very guarded about the way she felt about this matter.

Katia looked up suddenly, and an elderly gentleman appeared in the doorway to the dining room where they all sat, pouring over documents. “What’s with the party?” the man asked, and the others jumped a little and looked at him. Katia stealthily hid the photocopy of Page 47 under a page from some file or another.

“Dad,” Ben said. “You’re up.” He tried to sound cheery, or distract him, or perhaps both.

“Course I’m up,” Patrick countered. “What’re you looking for this time? Atlantis?”

“Yes!” “No!” Abigail and Riley spoke at once, and it was noteworthy that neither Katia nor Ben said anything. Patrick looked at Katia in particular.

“Who’re you?” he asked.

“Sophie,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “I have…special access to some of the documents, so I got these guys a copy, on the condition I get to help work on this on the side.” She shrugged. “I’m trying to put myself through school so in part it’s for course credit.”

Patrick chuffed. “Sounds like how I met my wife.” He looked away, moving toward the fridge.

“How is Mom, by the way?” Ben asked, grateful for the change in subject.

Patrick seemed grateful, too, since he said, “Oh, she’s fine. Still working on some…secret pattern in a rug we found in China.”

“Well good luck.”

“Thank you,” Patrick said, lifting his glass of water to his son as he turned and headed back out the room. Katia folded her eyebrows a little as she watched him leave. “Let me know when you need some help!” Patrick called over his shoulder from another room.

“Will do, Dad!” Ben called back.

“That’s your father?” Katia asked, to which Ben nodded. “I kind of like him.”


	19. 2007: Ian Opens Up

Ian turned over when he heard Shaw settle into the bed next to him. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked. Shaw kissed his shoulder, and Ian could hear him nod slightly. “Me, neither,” he said, turning over to face him. He settled into Shaw’s side as Shaw settled into bed with him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I have nightmares sometimes. I dream that when I wake up you’ll be gone. It’s as if you’re some kind of dream.”

Shaw hummed a little. “That’s funny. Sometimes I dream I’m back in the Octagon facility, and escaping, finding you again…that was all a dream.” He laughed a bit, stroking Ian’s shoulder gently and giving him a light squeeze.

“I’m glad it’s not. Octagon sounds like abject torture.” Shaw turned his head, looking at him a little more directly. “Damien told me a few things, but mostly he hides in his room and I can assume the rest.”

“I feel bad for that kid,” Shaw admitted. “The adjustment to the real world is always tough.” Ian didn’t comment; he felt he would clearly sound like he had no idea what he was talking about, and he didn’t want to take that kind of a risk and put his foot in his mouth. “So how’re you doing?” Shaw asked, sensing the need for a change of subject.

“…Weird,” Ian admitted. “I thought you weren’t coming back. I felt so…lost. I didn’t know what I was going to do without you.” Shaw sighed a little and gave him another squeeze. “I guess that’s what I get for spending most of my adult life with you,” Ian joked. Shaw smiled a little.

“I wouldn’t know what to do without you, either,” he replied. “When I found you I was a little under a year outside of that place, and I may not have looked it, but you did a lot for getting me adjusted to the outside world. I learned a lot from you.”

Ian smiled, kissing him on the cheek and settling into him, nuzzling him slightly. “I do still worry, though. I feel like…there’s going to be a job that comes along, or something’s going to happen, and you’ll be seriously at risk, or worse…”

Shaw sighed a little and held him close, rubbing his shoulder a little and kissing the top of his head. “I know, babe. I know.”

Ian sighed, closing his eyes and running his hand over Shaw’s chest. “You’ll…stay with me, right?” he asked. “I…I just need to know if this happens again. Maybe next time I’ll…” He broke off, and Shaw gave a questioning hum and looked at him. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. You can tell me.”

“I…felt so powerless. When you fell. I knew that if I jumped after you to try to save you I would die too, and I knew it would be useless, all in an instant. I couldn’t do anything to save you. You know that feeling where you know someone is going to die and you can’t stop it?” Shaw nodded. “Precisely. It’s an awful, ugly feeling and I never want to experience it again.”

Shaw shifted onto his side, wrapping his other arm around Ian’s waist and pulling him close. Ian’s hand slid to Shaw’s side, where it rested lightly, and he buried his face in Shaw’s chest. Shaw rested his chin on Ian’s head and closed his eyes, exhaling and relaxing around Ian. “I’ll stay with you,” he said. “Or keep myself safe, if it makes you feel better.”

“Thank you, Shaw.”

“Sure thing, love. You get some sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” Ian nodded, nestled against Shaw and letting himself feel safe, at least a little bit.


	20. 2007: Riley Takes A Break

Riley barely slept, that night and every night for perhaps the next two or three weeks. He wasn’t really counting. The code both wrote itself and proved almost impossible to get right. He knew he couldn’t do the same thing he had done every other time he attempted such a feat, so he was really trying to innovate or build off his work. He lived off sugary sodas and Starbucks, and whatever Ian insisted he eat, while he tried to work through this.

Then, one night, or day, when he wasn’t sure what was what, his phone rang. He jumped and fumbled around, almost dropping it before answering, “Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Jackie?”

“Yeah. I’ve…been thinking, since France does that to you, and…I wanted to talk, before we did anything else.”

“Okay, talk about what?”

“Do you blame me for what happened?” she asked. “Because I blame myself, and I’m scared that you hate me because you’re in pain for the rest of your life because of something I dragged you into, and if I hadn’t dragged you into it you would be normal and whole still and—”

“Hey,” he said softly, and Jackie stopped almost at once. “I’m not mad at you, OK? I mean yeah the pain sucks, but to tell the truth I feel like I actually got to do something, and that’s a damn good feeling.” He laughed a bit, a laugh of relief and exaltation.

“So…you’re OK?”

“Well…walking hurts, and I can’t sleep. And I was kinda worried about you.”

“Sorry. I knew that would happen.”

“Ian told me your reasons.”

“I figured he would.” He heard a slight smile in his voice, and that lightened his heart a little. “So, what’re you up to?”

“Oh, you know, treasure hunt.”

“So they found something to keep you busy?”

“Well, I insisted. It’s better than thinking about nothing but the constant pain.” Jackie chuckled a bit. “It’s kind of a secret mission but…” He grinned, biting his lip a little and savoring the moment. “We’re trying to track down some old Soviet geneticist or something.”

“Wait. You don’t know where this thing ends?” Jackie asked, a little bit incredulous.

“Not really. I don’t think even the President knows where this thing is supposed to end. We have a theory though. We think we’re looking for the old doc’s work.”

“Like what…a secret million-dollar scientific paper?”

Riley chuckled a bit. “Maybe, you never know.” Jackie laughed a little. “Right now I’m trying to get Ben a better version of this document. Gotta love the Freedom of Information Act,” he mumbled through his teeth.

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for trying to get a corrupt government to be transparent. Hey, speaking of…”

“Yeah?”

“My cousin got this…thing from something called Ensign on her desk a few days ago. What I can tell is Ensign is some kind of spy agency, independent of the CIA. I think this means they’re watching us?”

“Please don’t add to my paranoia.”

“It’s the best way any of us know how to interpret the message. I’m not trying to freak you out. But I felt like you should know, in case you can find some meaning in it that I can’t.”

“Take it easy OK? You’re on vacation in the South of France. You shouldn’t be worried about these things.”

“Well, Riley, I’m afraid to say that I will probably resume worrying about this. Thing number one to know about me is that once you get me worrying about something, I will continue to do so until resolution is provided.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Riley noted.

“In any case, that’s what’s new in my world. Do you guys need some help with the treasure hunt, or a place to hang out where someone else who’s after the treasure won’t get you?”

“We’ll see, but probably. Maybe later.”

“Alright. I’ll get in touch with the proper people. If anything goes wrong, get in touch with me, alright?”

“OK. Hey.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah, I feel a lot better now.”

“Good. Are you coming back soon?”

“Maybe.”

“OK.”


	21. 2016: Babysitting Interrupted

Damien grinned, perched on the couch next to Aiden and dueling him in some car racing game or another. “You’re good at this,” Aiden said. “I thought you didn’t play video games.”

“I didn’t,” Damien replied. “Not for the longest time at least. Not that they aren’t fun.”

“Lemme guess. Parents wouldn’t let you.”

“…Something like that,” Damien ceded as he executed a particularly difficult turn in the game. “They wanted me prepared for a particular career, and then I was rescued.”

Aiden paused. “Rescued?”

“Well, to be fair, the people who had me originally weren’t my parents. The people who rescued me adopted me, and between the two of them you can probably guess who I prefer.”

Aiden smiled, and then spent a few moments maneuvering his car in the game. “So what’re you doing here, anyway?”

“Well, I heard your mum was looking for a babysitter of sorts and I volunteered. We sparred a bit, and I got the job.”

“Is that why we need a new kitchen light?”

Damien laughed. “Sorry about that, mate. I can pay for it if you need.”

“I think you should take that up with my mom,” Aiden replied with a slight chuckle of his own. Damien smiled at him and looked at their game, carefully navigating around his lead. Aiden looked at him and caught on, trying to prevent him from doing what he was doing.

“You’re sly,” Damien commented. “You’ll go far.”

“Thanks,” Aiden replied.

Damien and Aiden continued to battle it out on the virtual racetrack, when they were both distracted by the sound of two heavy footsteps. They looked up at each other, and then at the door. Aiden paused the game, and Damien urged him to hide. Aiden nodded, ducking into the kitchen to grab a knife before disappearing into the safe house somewhere. Just as the doorbell rang, Damien was hidden as well, his phone already out and calling Ian.

“Hello?”

“Dad,” Damien answered in a hushed voice. “I’m in trouble.”

“What kind of tr—Damien? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine, but I don’t know how long that’s gonna last.” The doorbell rang a second and third time.

“Shaw’s here with me but I’ll call the others. They should be close by.” Damien nodded, giving Ian a breathless thank you. “Hang tight, and for the love of God…be safe.”

“I’ll do my best.” Ian hung up, and Damien pocketed his phone. The man started pounding on the door, and he knew it wouldn’t hold long. He had to get to Aiden.

Summoning everything he remembered from the facility, and expanded on by Shaw, he rolled effortlessly to his feet from his hiding place behind the couch, and almost glided through the house. He grabbed a knife from the block and the bag he stashed under the sink when he was interviewed by Sonya Odum. He slung the bag over his shoulder and searched the house for Aiden. The boy was hiding in a small closet in the guest bedroom. Damien knocked a couple times, and Aiden poked his head out, only to have Damien wave him back inside. “Don’t worry,” Damien said to him. “Help is on the way.”

Aiden nodded and disappeared again, and Damien took a deep breath, wondering how he was going to get out of this mess. The pounding on the door resumed, and Damien was almost certain it was going to break down. He took a deep breath and contemplated slipping them both out the back, vacating the house. He could face the intruder and allow Aiden to escape and find Ian’s crew. That was another option. But neither of them sounded like good options. Neither of them sounded safe.

He took another deep breath and continued to weigh his options, but he knew it was only a matter of time before his decision was made for him.

The door burst open, but instead of someone charging inside, there was some shuffling at the doorstep. Damien couldn’t help but hum to himself in confusion. What the hell was going on? There were voices at the door, and someone else, clearly of a more reasonable size, slipped into the house. Damien looked at the list of emergency phone numbers on the fridge across from him. He pulled the paper off the fridge and flipped it over, and then he followed the instructions on the back.

***

Blake Dexter sighed, scanning the house and taking slow, even steps, as if someone would jump out at him and start something with him. His feet crunched over the carpet as he looked slowly over the seemingly empty, much too quiet house. Sanchez waited behind him, too large to fit through the door his own self, so Dexter had to take care of this little matter on his own.

He sighed a little and started toward the kitchen, noticing two knives missing from the block but not thinking too much of it. “I know you’re in here,” he said. “So why don’t’cha come on out…have a little chat?” He smiled and held out his hands, putting on an amenable face.

***

Damien watched this man from his own hiding place, deeper in the office space where Aiden had found the closet to hide. Someone should be here by now, he couldn’t help thinking. He was glad at least that his prospective opponent was closer to his size, if footsteps were anything to go by.

Finally he heard someone pull up, and he let a silent sigh of relief escape into the darkness.


	22. 2016: Unwelcome Visitor

Katia stretched her neck out as she walked into the suite she normally shared with 47. The lights were off, which meant he was out somewhere, and she didn’t want to think about where he was right then. She could guess, and she didn’t feel like it. So she flicked on the light, her coat draped over her other arm, and froze a little. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

John took a couple of steps from the sofa toward her. “Not much. I thought I’d pay you a visit,” he replied.

“So you’re stalking me? Wait, how did you get in here?”

“Keycard locks aren’t that hard to crack, when you think about it.” He held up a card of his own.

“So you’re stalking me.”

“I can explain,” he said, evenly and quietly and in that soft, gruff voice and… Katia shook her head before she let him get to her, and she stepped around him.

“Either do it or get out,” she said tersely as she hung her coat up in the closet and checked for moths, as 47 had done.

“I…OK yes, I followed you here.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m bored out of my fucking skull and I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted. Then, and only then, did she turn around and look at him. “Katia, please. Hear me out.”

“Why should I?”

“OK look. I know you’ve got like…negative reasons to trust me, but I need your help.”

“With what? Entertaining you?”

“Actually no. I mean…spending time with you would be…awesome, but that’s not why I’m here.”

“It’s part of why you’re here.”

“OK yeah that’s true. But I’m also here because someone’s hunting you.”

Katia couldn’t help but pause. “What kind of…someone?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head a little. “I just know someone is coming for you. Well not you specifically but they need a little…”

“DNA?” she guessed, cocking an eyebrow.

John shrugged. “That’s the theory.”

Katia watched him a moment. “How do I know you’re not trying to play me again?”

“Because I’m not working for anyone this time.”

“And the time you were? Was it all fake?”

“No. Not all of it. I still wanted to find your father, but everything else I said was true. Trying to keep you safe…that was true.”

“Did you know who I was?”

“No, not really.”

She considered him a moment. “So what do you really want? To…” She shrugged. “Be with me? Is that your endgame? And all this auxiliary stuff is you finding excuses?”

“When you put it like that it sounds like I’m an asshole!”

“You _are_ an asshole!” He drew back a little, folding his eyebrows together. “Suppose I forgive you for turning on me and switching to blatantly exploiting me rather than couching it in terms of ‘I love you’ or whatever you were thinking. What about cutting and running three months ago and leaving the rest of us to the wolves? You could’ve, I don’t know, made yourself useful somehow? But maybe that’s too complicated for you. And your string of lies and excuses isn’t, somehow.”

John sighed. “I knew this would happen.”

“So you know you’ve fucked up, but you’re going to pretend like nothing happened.”

“I told you I can explain.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that I don’t _want_ an explanation? Your explanations are bullshit and just as confusing as everything else that comes out of your mouth, so why would I want more of them?”

“OK, fine. I won’t talk to you anymore.” He turned toward the door.

“That is not what I fucking said!” He stopped, but didn’t look at her. She sighed heavily. “Dammit, John! Just be honest with me, for once! Or are you scared I won’t like you that way?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how to like you and work at the same time.” She watched him, at least eighty percent sure this was another lie. “And on top of that I don’t think you want either one, or when you do talk to me there’s always a purpose. You only want one side of the equation.”

“There is no equation, John.”


	23. 2007: The Rhythms Of Home

Nicole hummed, flipping over the pages in the folder and frowning over their details, not quite sure what any of this meant. The folder was an Ensign record of some operation in Marrakech or some such, but it blew her mind. There was something…astonishing about this. This sounded like a US operation but it was clear that Ensign was completely independent of the government or any government.

Then it hit Nicole: she didn’t understand _why_ this was going on. She didn’t know why she’d been given the file or why the operation was going on or why an agency was allowed to operate outside the watch of any government. She didn’t know what she was even expected to do about it. She sipped some ice water and leaned over the pages, frowning and taking in the details.

And then something stuck out at her. “Elena!” she called. Elena walked quickly into the dining room, humming and frowning in confusion at her. “Look at this,” she said, turning a page toward her and pointing at something on it.

Elena leaned on the table and studied the page. “What does this…Ensign know about Michel?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but I think I know why we were given this.” Nicole looked at the page. “Someone is keeping tabs on Michel, and I’ve got a very strong feeling it’s not Milieu.”

Elena looked at her. “Do we get him?”

“They’ll know someone is onto their operation.” She bit her lip a little, studying this dilemma and hoping a solution presented itself. None did. At least, not at once. Elena looked at her, and when Nicole looked back she noticed that Elena was smiling a little bit. “What?” she asked.

“You. You’re cute when you’re concentrating on something.”

Nicole smiled back. “Oh, shush.” She shook her head a little and looked back at the page, though she couldn’t help but look up at Elena over the corner of her eye, still blushing a little and smiling. “In any event, we need a way to protect Michel without tipping off Ensign that such a thing is happening.” She sighed. “That sounds like a right predicament.”

Elena nodded, humming in agreement.

***

Ian frowned a little over a newspaper while he sat in the dining room, eating breakfast in a relatively quiet country house. Damien sat at the table, staring at him blankly and eating his food at the same time. Shaw had assured him this strange phase would pass as Damien adjusted to life outside the facilities, but Ian still found his bizarre behavior unsettling.

“You want me to call you Ian, right?” he asked suddenly, and Ian looked up, startled. These had to be the first words the boy had said to him in weeks.

“Y-yes,” Ian replied, leaning back and lowering his paper. “Why do you ask?”

Damien shrugged. “I keep thinking of you as Mr. Howe.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No. I know I could kill you. I don’t want to, but I could. Lots of others call you Mr. Howe, though, and I kind of wonder.”

“Well, if it helps, Shaw calls me Ian,” he said, mustering a smile. Damien looked up, for a moment still expressionless, and then he smiled.

“Helps a lot,” he said. “Thanks.”

Ian smiled back. “You’re welcome.” He shuffled his food around a bit, preparing to take another bite, and asked, “How do you like it here?”

Damien shrugged a little. “It’s not bad,” he said. “Nobody hits me here, or forces me into death matches.” Ian blinked, drawing back a little. The boy spoke so frankly about such things, and the bar was truly set so low…

“Well I can assure you, just as I had to assure my cousin, that no one is habitually drunk, either. Nor does anyone do drugs or other strange substances.” Damien looked at him, frowning. “My cousin comes from a contentious home. A lot of that was going on, to say nothing of the state of the building itself. I’ll tell you this, though: it was _not_ as clean as your labs and training rooms. You’ve got that going for you.”

Damien smiled a little. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” he quoted. Ian smiled back.

“But it’s OK to be a little messy,” he said, smiling indulgently. He thought about booping Damien on the nose but decided against it. Baby steps, he reminded himself. Baby steps.


	24. 2016: When The Tide Turns

“What is he doing here?” 47 asked, softly but pointedly, as his eyes went from John to Katia.

“I don’t bloody know,” she replied, shaking her head and looking away, moving to leave. 47 watched her for a moment, and then looked at John, expecting an answer from him instead.

“I wanted to see her,” he explained. “I wanted a lot of things. To talk to her, to warn her that someone’s coming for her though I don’t know who, God knows what else…”

“Stop talking.” John shut up, but tilted his head and cocked his eyebrows at 47 in a stubborn, challenging stance. “What do you mean, someone is after her?”

John shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know someone is after her. What more do you want?”

“Name? Date? Place of origin? Some other identifying detail?”

“I could guess? All I heard was someone was coming after her, and I think I heard someone say it was an agent from something called Ensign.”

Katia stopped and looked at him. “Ensign? You mean Verax’s personal CIA Ensign? That Ensign?”

John shrugged. “What else could it be?”

“Why?”

“Why else?” 47 replied. “But to exact revenge on some of the people who attacked the organization.”

“How did they find me? How do they know my name, John?”

“I don’t know,” John said, looking at her. He almost asked her how 47 knew her name, how he himself knew her name, but something held him back. He was already in hot water as it was; he didn’t want to make it any worse.

Katia took a deep breath. “If they find me, I’ll know it, trust me. So let’s table that for now. Is there anything else you want to tell us about?”

“There’s something going down in LA.”

***

Damien watched the man as he moved slowly toward where he was hiding. He was still talking, still urging them to come out, come out, wherever they were, but Damien wasn’t even paying attention anymore. He was busy tracking enemy movements and trying to figure a way out of this. So far his best option was homicide, and while it was clearly justifiable in the circumstances, it was not the most desirable of outcomes.

***

“And this informant who’s told you all this, why isn’t he doing anything?” Katia asked.

“He’s not trained for that,” John shot back. “He’s just trained to keep an eye out.”

“Why isn’t he telling someone who can _actually_ help? Like the cops?”

“Because Sanchez is a seven-and-a-half foot tall menace. You really think cops can hold him?”

“So why are you telling us?” 47 asked.

“I don’t know what else to do.” Katia regarded him a few moments, and then she looked at 47.

***

The individual who pulled up to the house got out of the car, followed by three other people, and all three were taking stock of the situation. The door was guarded by a veritable giant of a man, and slipping past would be next to impossible. But, that still left the back entrance, provided there wasn’t a guard there, as well. He indicated that one of his companions come with him as they went on a surveillance walk masquerading as a leisurely stroll, and he held a hand to his earpiece. “We have visual on the house, we’re closing in,” he said.

“Good work, agent,” Nelson Gates replied. “Remember, objective is to rescue Aiden and his babysitter, and take down whomever that is.”

“I know for one it’s going to be a problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever tried arresting Shaq O’Neil?”

***

Aiden peered out of a crack in the door, slender enough to escape notice and wide enough to allow him to see what was going on. All he could tell was a man in a white suit was casing the house, urging them out of hiding. It made him want to slink farther into the shadows, or break away and run and never stop until he had gotten as far as he could go.

But at the same time, he knew he couldn’t do that. People were counting on him. Damien probably was. He knew his parents were. He couldn’t let them down. He waited until the man was between him and Damien’s probable position, and he slipped quietly out of the closet and, before he could think about what he was doing, drove the knife into the man’s neck. The man cried out, and his hand went to his neck. Aiden pulled the knife out and tossed it somewhere. “Come on!” he said to Damien. Damien looked from him to the man, cursing and trying to chase after them while covering the wound in his neck. In a little under a second, he turned to follow Aiden out the back door.

They both heard the lumbering footsteps of the man at the door, making his way slowly around the house to intercept them. “We’re not gonna make it,” Aiden cried.

“Yes we are. Come on!” Damien replied, and he grabbed Aiden by the arm and pulled him through the door, dashing across the backyard.

***

“Then tell us what you do know,” Katia insisted.

“That whomever’s doing this, it’s a favor to Verax, which means while it looks like the kid is the main target, he’s not.”

“Kid? What kid?”

“I don’t know, some kid! He’s got an older boy with him, some kind of babysitter.”

“What does he look like?” 47 asked.

“He didn’t say.”

“If Verax is hunting anyone, it’s someone connected to Ian. Ian spearheaded the attack, remember?” Katia said. “It’s that boy…Damien. They’re after Damien. They’re going to kill him. I need a phone.”

“Katia,” 47 said to her, and she froze a little. “Take a breath. Think.” She obeyed, closing her eyes and taking a slow, deep breath to center herself. 47 looked at Katia. “What is the purpose of telling us this if you know we can do nothing about it?”

Katia realized 47 had a really good point, and she turned to face John again. “He’s right. What kind of game are you playing, John?”

“I told you, Katia. I don’t know how to like you and work at the same time. You people don’t know this but I haven’t been in this world very long. I know how to be a Syndicate asset and that’s about it.”

47 looked at Katia, awaiting her assessment of him. “So why go through all this if you’re this confused?”

“I don’t want Verax getting their paws on you, because they’ll rip you apart. I don’t want that to happen to you. So I keep track of them.”

“So you think you’re protecting me.” In truth Katia didn’t know how to feel: disgusted? Alarmed? Sick to her stomach?

“I’m trying to.”

“Let me take care of that myself,” she snapped back.

“OK.”

“Now. Is that the only reason you’re here? Protecting me from Verax and their associates? Stumbling through telling me you actually care about me despite everything?”

“No,” he said. “There’s something else.”

It hit her finally. As far as his feelings for her were concerned, his desire to keep her safe, he was honest. He wasn’t honest in the way 47 was honest, or Martin was honest, but he was honest. At least, about how he felt about her, and his desire to tell her as much of the truth as possible. “What is it?” she asked.

John sighed. “The man you’ve been staying with? Has been captured by Russians.”

“And how do you know this?”

“I overheard someone mention it. Jackie I think. She didn’t see me, we were just passing each other on the street, she was talking to her cousin. She was talking to him about how to get to Russia to free him.”

In a moment of almost irrational offense, Katia blurted out, “And no one thought to invite me into any of this?”


	25. 2016: Irrational Acts

“A psychotic,” John said, into the awkward silence that hung between himself and 47, which 47 made use of by cleaning his weapons and keeping everything in order and John by…laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling. “I lost out to a psychotic! I don’t believe it!”

“He’s not psychotic,” 47 explained bluntly, not even looking at him. “And it was never a contest.” He dipped a rag into a jar of polish and scraped some off, turning to one of his pistols. “Katia likes who she likes, and you need to learn to live with that.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to be thrilled about it!”

47 hummed ever so slightly. “The other thing you need to do is sort yourself out. Your confusion is affecting her.”

“And Martin’s doesn’t?”

“No. Because she’s not confused by him. She is, however, confused by you.”

John turned his head to look at him. “So? What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Decide. Do you really like her? Or are you lonely? Are you working, or are you making excuses to talk to her? If you are making excuses, why? And why not simply talk to her? You need to make some hard choices, John.”

“About what?”

“About how you feel, and what you want from your life.” 47 looked John in the eye. “Freedom is a heavy burden.”

***

Katia paced back and forth slowly in the suite’s bedroom. She knew 47 and John were talking in the living room, but she didn’t bother to listen in. Her mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with these total strangers looking for her father’s work or his lab or whatever they were looking for, and Martin being held captive by the Russians, and Verax…

Impulsively she moved to the phone and dialed a number. “Hello?” Ian asked after two rings.

“It’s Katia,” she said. She started to say something about the attack in LA, and he told her he knew about it already. “Shit!” she hissed.

“What seems to be the trouble?”

“It means your boy Damien is the target. Aiden would’ve been collateral damage,” she said.

“What?!”

“There’s more,” she blurted out. She found herself speaking faster around him, as if to find a way to save herself even though she was personally not in danger from this man. “It’s Verax. Or rather…someone associated with Verax. The man who told me about this mentioned a…Sanchez…being present, a large man evidently.”

It was Ian’s turn to hiss out a swear. “Riley explained this to us at one point. There’s a lot more to the list of Notable Patriots on the Verax website. We found an entire list of associates and people who owe Verax favors, and it looks like Verax is finally cashing in.”

Katia straightened, feeling herself blanch a little. “John was right. They are hunting me. They’re hunting us.”

“How did he come by this information?”

“I don’t know…his old Syndicate contacts, I guess. He mentioned an informant in LA, and said he overheard the bit about Martin himself.”

“He knows about Martin, as well?”

“He overheard Jackie mention something about it in passing.” Ian swore again. “What?”

“He didn’t overhear anything. He followed us for a solid ten minutes before one of us noticed. Don’t trust him.”

“As if I don’t already know that. And of course he’d lie to me.” She sighed a little, and Ian took a bit to respond. When he did, he said, “Don’t worry about him. A group of us are going over to save him.”

Katia swallowed thickly. “About that…”

Ian hummed a little. “You’re troubled.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“I have a lot of experience dealing with people who have troubles. They come to me seeking a quick solution from someone who won’t tell them to change how they’re thinking about a particular problem. I’ve never seen a case where that response has gone over well.”

“And yours has?”

“I’m still in business.”

Katia let out a slight laugh. “I have feelings for your brother,” she said after a moment. “I can’t sort it all out if I like Dmitry or Martin or the person underneath all of that, but I have feelings for him.”

“I see. Well I’m afraid that’s not a problem one can shoot their way to a solution for. Matters of the heart are…more complicated and more subtle. I’m…afraid I can’t be of much help.”

“Well, maybe you can.”

“How do you mean?”

“Your little plan to save him. Who all is involved?”

“Why are you asking?”

“I need to know.”

“Fine. So far it’s myself, Shaw, his wife Sonya, with Maggie, Nelson Gates, and Agent Sadusky serving as tactical support.”

Katia bit her lip, for a moment fully prepared to stop herself from this madness. After all, they still had the hunt on their hands, and figuring out what to do with what they found would require her full attention, she was sure of it. And besides, Martin had Sonya. Katia herself wasn’t counted as important in Martin’s life. “The hunt doesn’t need me much right now, or at least nothing I can’t give over the phone.”

“Katia, what are you doing? It’s much too dangerous.”

“Shut up! You don’t get to tell me what’s too dangerous for me!”

“Russians aren’t playthings.”

“Fine, then.” Katia hung up then, and for a moment stood there, shocked, shaken a little at what she had just done and not sure why she had done it. Then she took a deep breath and turned to her bag.


	26. 2016: Stagnation And Planning

Martin continued to stare at the ceiling of his cell. He had lost track of days, as they all seemed to blend together. People have stopped calling him Alexei, for which he was grateful, but he hadn’t heard from the double agent he had found and contacted, which meant there was no message from MI6 or anyone, for that matter. He wondered if he had been abandoned, or if they were deliberating throwing him to the wolves again. He knew some of his neighbors talked frequently of people back at home who were waiting for them or assumed they were dead, and he had a few such people of his own: Ilyana and Kate, Sonya and Aiden, Ian, Katia. He wondered if they were looking for him, or even knew where he was.

He presumed they would have by now, and were well on their way to rescuing him. Ian was smart, as was Sonya, and they were both resourceful. Katia, though he knew relatively little about her, was an unstoppable force of nature. But if any of their efforts were to be successful he had to figure out how to meet them halfway. He had to start thinking his own way out of this clusterfuck. There had to be a door number three somewhere, when door number one was acceptance and door number two was death. He was a spy. He had been trained for eventual capture, even if he didn’t remember much of it. So he took a deep breath and began to consider matters as they were.

***

Ivanenko hummed to himself as he settled into the chair and considered the file on Alexei Volkov, which he had compiled gradually over the years while working with double agents in MI6 and beyond, and he started going over the early details, the life in boarding school, old address in the Soviet Union, things of that nature. He was driven here by doubt, by the thought that the prisoner had been right about himself, and not merely in the way one is brainwashed into thinking such, or the way one is convinced of a legend’s authenticity. The man he thought was Alexei Volkov, perhaps he wasn’t?

But that was not the story the file told. The file told him every perfect detail of the life of a perfect double agent. Everything was so carefully crafted and neatly arranged, so flawless. He had relied on this file, this very file, for so long, and the very subject of it had called the whole thing into question by his adamancy that he was not, in fact, Alexei Volkov as had been claimed before, as he had taken so blindly at face value. So maybe he had been wrong before.

But for the sake of the mission, the sake of the intel, Ivanenko knew he had to keep pressing forward. The file could be anything, from a cover-up of operational failure to a complete fabrication to distract him, but he had to keep moving. Its results had been too good over the years, and he was not a man to give up.

***

Katia left her bag in the bedroom and walked into the living room, finding 47 sitting on the couch and John snoring on the other couch. 47 turned his head toward her, so she figured he was wide-awake. “I’m lost,” she admitted to him, walking over to the armchair and taking a seat. “I want to go to Russia.”

“So why don’t you?” 47 asked.

“Because…because no one even thought to tell me before John showed up, because Martin’s already married and has a kid and I barely factor into his life at all, because I feel like he wants nothing to do with me.”

47 watched her, his gaze boring into her soul in the way he always did, nonjudgmental but knowing all nonetheless. “Why is this so important to you?”

“I…” Katia looked away, suddenly unsure about telling 47 anything. She didn’t know what he could do or would do once he knew what she was about to say, and she didn’t want to take the risk that it would be something dangerous. She also knew she could hide nothing from him. “I have feelings for him,” she said, quietly, on the off chance John really could hear them right now.

47 hummed a little, looking at the table. “Let me guess,” he said after a moment. “You wanted to be the one to save him. You thought you could win him that way. Now let me ask you something: Is Martin Odum really a man you want to win?”

Katia watched him for several long moments, feeling herself starting to believe that he had a point. She’d said it herself: Martin was married and had a child, and from what he’d told her already, that marriage had been on the rocks for some time. And maybe she really did only like a couple of his legends. Would that kind of a relationship be worth it? A man who had a high probability of infidelity, a certainty of insanity, and was not always a man she was interested in…was it really all that worth it?

She didn’t know, and she felt closer to Martin than she did to most other people, to the exclusion of perhaps 47 and no one else. They had a lot of time to talk, about anything and everything, while they worked on his apartment and got it to a condition that was starting to look mostly decent. But did that really mean anything? She knew instinctively she could count on 47 to have her best interests at heart, in his own peculiar way, but did she know that about Martin?

Finally she took a deep breath and stood, walking toward the kitchen for a glass of water. 47 looked at her for a moment before returning his attention to that point on the coffee table. Katia filled a glass with the coldest water available and took a long draught, and then she walked into the living room again. “What is it?” she asked. He looked up at her. “You’re staring at that spot. Why?”

“What am I supposed to stare at?” he replied simply.

“I thought there was a…spot of dirt you were plotting to assassinate.” His lips formed into an incredibly slight smile, and there was a faint glint in his eyes. She was convinced that if he were normal, she would’ve gotten him to laugh a little just then. Well, she could work her way up to it.

“If I wanted to assassinate a spot of dirt, it would’ve been done by now,” 47 remarked. Katia couldn’t help but smile fondly at him, and then she walked back over to the armchair, setting the glass on the coffee table.

“I talked to Ian. About Russia.”

“What did he say?”

“He said it’s too dangerous. I, of course, doubt he’s an authority on the subject, and—”

“Stop.” She looked up, surprised. “You’re not going to Russia. I can almost guarantee you it won’t get you what you want. This isn’t about danger, not in the physical sense, but you’re still at risk.”

“I…I don’t get it. How do you mean?”

“Whatever you feel or…think you feel for Martin is clouding your judgment. He will be the cause of whatever happens to you if you go to Russia.”

“What’s here for me? Some treasure hunt?”

“Are you dissatisfied with it?”

“It’s…not what I expected. I know what I said, but…it’s a bunch of sitting around a table staring at documents and speculating about what they mean. When are we actually going to _do_ something?”

47 looked at her. _So that was the trouble_ , he thought. _Or rather, part of it._ “Then perhaps I should test you again.” Katia blinked.

“What, more jet turbines? Helicopters?”

“No.” He shook his head a little and then stood. “Come with me.”


	27. 2007: Clues In The Gossip

“I found it,” Riley said, dropping a file on the coffee table in front of Ben and Ian. He was leaning heavily on his crutches and looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but he also seemed pleased with himself.

“You look well,” Ben said to him.

“As well as can be expected.” Riley found a spot on the sofa and eased himself down favoring his injured side and exhaling as he settled in. “You know that file’s pretty interesting,” he continued. “The woman’s real name is Krista Anne. She was born on an army base and grew up to be a spy.”

“Colorful life,” Ian replied.

“Here’s the interesting part. She was on assignment behind the Curtain when she met a handsome and charming Ukrainian scientist named…get this…Peter Aaron Litvenko. Who is…our mystery man.”

“Let me guess, they fell in love and the rest is history.”

“Actually the rest is a state secret. Or was. Krista Anne DeSilva was infertile. She couldn’t have kids. But the research her new beau was doing meant that maybe, the impossible was possible. The record cuts short just before anyone could tell if this came to fruition, but the wheels were well in motion.”

“The CIA had a spy in Dr. Litvenko’s program?” Ben asked.

“Yep.”

“Sounds logical. They want to keep tabs on the defector,” Ian said. “Officially he was off the record, but his girlfriend…” He shook his head, smiling in admiration at the clever ploy revealed to him.

“Agent’s name?”

“The file was listed as compiled by an Andrew Cox, which sounds like an alias on the face of it,” Riley said.

“DeSilva’s handler?” Ian asked.

“Maybe. Likely, even. If she was CIA, she would’ve kept her coworkers up to date,” Abigail said, breezing into the room almost unnoticed and taking a seat across from Ian. They looked at her. “See, women gossip about their love lives to their coworkers, and their coworkers to their lovers. She wouldn’t have mentioned a word about what she or her boyfriend were actually up to, but unofficially, several people were, in fact, keeping up to date on Litvenko’s location and goings on.”

Ian leaned back. “I’m impressed, Dr. Chase,” he said. She gave a smile that said, “I know,” in response.

“So…she gossips to her coworkers about her handsome doctor boyfriend who defects from the Soviet Union?” Ben asked.

“That’s the theory.”

“And on the flip side, she told her handsome geneticist all about her coworkers, or as much was allowed by the nature of her job,” Abigail said.

“And in the meantime, they both carried out something they made sure no one else knew about.”

“And the question is, what.”


	28. 2016: Two Birds With One Stone

“What’s this?” Katia asked, staring over 47’s shoulder at the screen of his laptop. There was a picture of Secretary of State Conrad Tomlin, as well as all the details of his life, from height, weight, and blood type to occupational history.

“This,” 47 replied, “is Conrad Tomlin.”

“I know that, but why are you showing me this?”

“Because you need something to do.”

“You want me to kill him?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head a little. “I need you to capture and interrogate him.”

“To what end?”

“We need details for Verax’s retaliation operation.” 47 turned back to the computer and pressed a key, revealing a new screen. This, she realized, was Tomlin’s work history with Verax, a long and detailed document that painted a picture of a loyal “patriot.” That word was starting to make Katia sick to her stomach.

“You’ve chosen a worthy target,” Katia noted. Somewhere between Tomlin’s history with the Marines and his mercenary work, she could tell he would actually be a challenge to drill, and coupled with his loyalty to the cause… But 47 wouldn’t have chosen this for her if he believed it simply couldn’t be done.

47 stood, and turned to face her. “Find him, and find out what he knows. Do whatever it takes. It helps to take out whatever you’re feeling on your target.”

“Why tell me this, if you had your feelings suppressed?”

“Because not all my brothers are like that.” 47 turned and walked around her to the living room. Katia looked at his back, weighing his words.

“You’re not asking for me to interrogate him. You’re asking me to break him and sort myself at the same time.”

“Two birds with one stone.”

***

“So you’re saying someone tracked down your safehouse and tried to kill you?” the agent asked. Aiden nodded. “How do you know _he_ didn’t do it?” The agent thumbed toward Damien, who growled and almost launched at him. Aiden held up a hand to stop him.

“Cuz he’s my babysitter and he saved my life,” Aiden said to the agent.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Leave him alone,” said a man Aiden vaguely recognized. He walked over to them, and the agent backed off. The man turned to Aiden and Damien. “Are you boys alright?” he asked.

Aiden and Damien both nodded, and Damien said, “Aiden didn’t quite tell the truth. I didn’t do much of anything. He saved me, in fact.”

“Huh. Is that right? My name’s Agent Rice, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“OK,” Aiden said. Damien, somewhat cautiously, nodded.

“OK so let’s start with what you were doing there today…”

***

“So what do we do?” Jackie asked to the general assembly around the boardroom table. With her were Ian, Nelson Gates, Agent Sadusky, Sonya Odum, and Shaw, and as far as she could tell not a single one of them had a plan. “What, exactly, do we do?”

Ian watched her for a moment and then looked around the table at the others. “We can’t exactly storm the castle guns blazing,” he said. “For one we would all be killed before we reach the front gate. So we need a plan.”

“Trouble is, we don’t know where he’s being held,” Sadusky replied.

“Well, if Katia could find her father on nothing more than hearsay, we can probably find Martin with the help of the unblinking eye of the camera,” Jackie said.

“Assuming the Russians will cooperate,” Ian said.

“They better,” Nelson replied. “They’re holding an American spy under the delusion that he’s one of theirs. Wouldn’t want that kind of a mishap to be made public, now, would they?”

“That’s not always a guarantee. Russians don’t think the way Americans do. If they get word that keeping Martin is a bad idea, they’re just as likely to free him as to kill him outright.” Ian leaned forward, loosely clasping his hands in front of him and watching everyone, Nelson in particular, rather intently. “Diplomatic _talking_ won’t get us anywhere, more likely than not, and will definitely give the FSB a heads up to off Martin before we can save him, unless it benefits them otherwise.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Sadusky asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Why not _call_ Katia?” Shaw asked. “She found her old man on nothing but hearsay, like you said. She can find Martin, too.”

Sonya gave him a look, a blend of uncertainty and hardline adamancy against the very thought of such a thing, and Nelson responded her by giving her his own look of warning. Then he looked at Shaw and Ian. “Do it if you think it’ll work.”


	29. 2007: Old Friends Talk

Jackie hummed a little, watching Nicole while she continued studying the file and Elena sat next to her, working on a crossword. “What’s it say?” she asked after a minute.

“That an employee of ours is being followed,” Nicole replied. “Ensign seems to have no ties to any government or other agency, but is based in the United States along with parent company Verax.”

“Verax? Octagon Verax? Blew-Riley-Up Verax? _That_ Verax?”

“Seems so.” Nicole was nonchalant, but Elena looked up suddenly.

“ _Quel est ce_ Verax?” she asked.

Jackie blinked; it took a moment for her to figure out what Elena was asking. “They’re…I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think anyone knows. I know they had their fingers in Octagon, which is this massive genetic engineering program. It came up with Shaw, if that’s any indication. The man is a goddamned powerhouse.” Nicole smirked a little.

“Verax is a…contractor, right?” Elena asked. Jackie shrugged.

“For the United States army,” Nicole replied, turning over another page, as if she were reading a newspaper. “They’re a right lot of mercenaries,” she grumbled.

“Mercs?” Jackie asked, looking from Elena to Nicole.

“The whole lot of them. They fight for money, and don’t care what side they’re on. The States just pay them well.” Jackie leaned back a little instinctively. She could tell Nicole had strong feelings about this point, and she didn’t want to protest the point, but she knew as well as anyone that the more one knows one’s enemies, the better shot they have at survival and victory.

She also knew she wasn’t going to get much out of Nicole, so she had to go on a fact-finding mission of her own.

***

Ben sat in the study, combing through the file on his own and making a general mess of things around him. The operative known as, among other things, Krista Anne DeSilva, Natasha de Silva, and Ludmilla Kozlova had a colorful case history, tackling all sorts of things from Soviet interests in Sri Lanka of all places to a rebellion in a little village in Hungary. The mission where she met Dr. Litvenko was particularly noteworthy, as she was tracking a certain KGB spy, Vladimir Ivanenko, at the time and the meeting seemed pure chance. But, it looked like a beneficial union on both sides. He got a ticket across the curtain, and by all accounts, she was smitten. They both were, but this seemed to give her life purpose beyond what even serving one’s country could do.

Another spy was transferred to the Ivanenko case and she was given the task of helping the doctor defect. It was described as her best mission, certainly the one she gave her best effort to. Ben had the distinct feeling she would have done it anyway.

But there was no mention of locations, only a strange code to obscure the location of safe houses and other locations that were on a need-to-know basis even at the highest levels. They probably wouldn’t have even been written down, instead based on a general common knowledge at the Company that all could rely on and understand. Riley couldn’t hack that. Which meant they had to start considering other options in order to decipher all this.

Someone knocked on the door, and Ian poked his head in the door. “Any luck?” he asked.

“Not particularly. There appears to be some kind of code, masking all the locations of CIA safe houses and other places from prying eyes. I think it’s a verbal code, something everyone who works there understands, but is never written down.”

“Very clever,” Ian said, with that gleam in his eyes as he closed the door behind him. “Can I take a look?”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe you can see something I can’t.” Ben passed the file to him, and Ian took a seat in the other chair and scanned it a little.

“You used to say things like that when we hunted the Templar Treasure,” he remarked.

“Yeah, I did.”

He continued reading through the file. “Those were good days, Ben. And our combined foolishness got in the way.” He shook his head a little. “My greed and…impatience clouded my judgment, and your idealism clouded yours. Or so I thought while I was rotting in prison.”

“Take it that changed?” Ben prompted.

“In a sense. I realized idealism isn’t the worst form of folly. It’s the form most easy to check with sense and reason,” he continued as he turned another page. “See, Ben, I’ve met people in prison who are truly dangerous, and cannot be reasoned with. Not a one of them is an idealist.” Here he looked up at Ben, meeting his gaze.

“Well that’s the problem with prison,” Ben said. Ian smiled a little. “Anything stick out?”

“I recognize some of this from when I still heard from my brother.”

“Your brother? I didn’t know you had a brother?”

Ian chuckled. “Well, outside of a few members of his immediate family, his existence is a British state secret. Though I’m afraid he might be dead. See I haven’t heard from him in almost three years, an unusually long time for him.” He looked up at Ben, his eyebrows folded together.

“Do you know what happened to him?”

“I can’t get anyone to talk to me. Believe me, I’ve tried. I originally wanted him to know that I was in lockup in case he wanted to see me, and since then…” He pursed his lips and shook his head a little.

“You said he talked like this sometimes?”

“Yeah. He talked about strange locations. It was easy to tell what he was referring to and he knew he couldn’t reveal exactly what he meant outside of his close circle of coworkers. But…” Ben watched as a realization hit Ian, and he grabbed a legal pad and a pen. “…he modified an old family coding system to communicate certain pieces of information. Much of the time it was his way of asking for my help with a particular assignment, but sometimes it was because I asked, or because he was really mad at his handler.” Ian continued to scratch out something, periodically referring to the locations in the file. “I didn’t mind messing with that old fart. Graves, I believe his name was. Terrence Graves. Something always felt…off to me, based on the way John described him.”

Ben nodded thoughtfully, his hand over his mouth. Ian continued to write, occasionally scratching things out and rewriting them. “Something to understand about my brother was that he operated at the end of the Cold War and the continued unrest in Eastern Europe, in part facilitated by the rise of the Russian Mafia.”

“I see,” Ben said. “Sounds like fertile ground for a spy.”

“It was. There were a lot of active spies even after the fall of the Curtain.” He leaned over to study the file a little more intently. “The West apparently wanted to make sure the former Soviet Union was ‘progressing the right way’, and didn’t…relapse, as it were. And of course the Soviet Union still wanted to keep tabs on the West to know what the hell that all meant. I can’t blame them.”

“I’m glad I’m not a spy, then.”

Ian smiled a little. “Me, too, Ben. Me, too. Besides, being a criminal pays a lot better and gets an awful lot more done.” He flipped over a page, scratched out and rewrote another word, and finally set the pen down, leaning back in his chair. “I think that’s everything.”

“For what?”

“A good Howe system is at least three layers deep,” Ian explained. “The first layer is what’s technically a final result of the encoding process. Then one must peel back the layers. Nathan Howe in fact used a series of ciphers in a very set order. In total he had eight, but most messages require three or four at the most. John felt it most natural to switch ciphers two and three, hence modified. This being incredibly precious intel, something we’re not even supposed to possess, John would’ve used six because he’s paranoid.”

“Why not the last two?”

“The last two are where everything destabilizes. Even Nathan Howe only used them in theory, when he wrote his treatise on encoding intelligence. In practice the use of the last two ciphers produced…wildly unpredictable results.” Ben hummed, while Ian was hard at work on a system it looked like he had memorized. “Our whole family learned this system, even if we cared not to. It’s our family legacy, the way the Templar Treasure is yours.”

“Take it it was useful to your brother, then. If he was a spy.”

“Precisely.” Ian continued to write, and as he did so, he said, “Since the Brits and the Americans probably shared a lot of their cipher material, making either equal targets for double agents, the way John encoded the locations for the Brit side should…help me…decode what the Americans know…”

“Do you need time?”

“Give me about an hour and a half, please.” Ben nodded, giving a small “OK,” as he walked out of the study and down to the kitchen for the first time in certainly several hours.


	30. 2016: Stake Out Interruptus

Katia sat in the car outside Tomlin’s country mansion just outside of DC, gently but rapidly drumming her thumbs on the steering wheel. The bastard wasn’t due out of the office until at least eight, his work being never-ending, or so he said. While Katia could believe it, she also suspected he wasn’t referring to his official Secretarial business. But, she sat out here anyway, as 47 instructed, with a sandwich from a Subway in the front seat next to her for when she got hungry, a bottle of water for thirst, and nothing but time to kill. She couldn’t even keep something on the radio in case she missed something,

_Fuck you, 47,_ she thought bitterly as she glared out the window across the street to some plot of land or another that belonged to another rich…

Her train of thought stopped, as she stared across the plot. Something was…off about it. She slipped out of the car and rushed across the street onto the land. She went to the trees around the perimeter, and she edged around them and moved toward the mansion, obscured by more trees. The property looked like the property of every other rich person in either Maryland or Virginia, and most of them were politicians, so to any passerby this looked like more of the same.

It wasn’t until she had gotten center with the fountain in the back garden and onto the stone path connecting it to everything else on the expansive property that she understood what was so off about this place. She had seen it on Verax’s website. She took a few more steps to get the view to match up identically, and realized that this place must’ve belonged to Senator Gorman. Katia reached for her phone to call 47 and tell him of her discovery, when it rang. She hummed, looking at the number, and then answered, “Hello?”

“Katia?” She recognized the voice immediately as Shaw’s. “We need your help. We need you coming to Russia with us.”

“Then why the fuck did Ian say no when I called him?” she demanded in response.

“Hm?”

“I called him last night asking to go so I could help save Martin and he said it was too dangerous.”

There was a pause, and Katia presumed it was to get Ian’s confirmation of her story. “Well, we realized we couldn’t do this without you.”

Katia turned on her heel, looking around and struggling a little with what to say next before, “Why the hell didn’t you think of this before?” tumbled past her lips.

“Hey!” someone called, and Katia spun around, blanching. It was the senator, standing there in a polo and slacks, his hands on his hips. “You gonna tell me what the hell you’re doing on my property?”

Katia staggered a bit, babbling in Basque and gesturing aimlessly, looking like a foreigner struggling to indicate that she had gotten lost and was looking for her tour group, but Gorman stepped toward her and snatched her phone. “Sorry,” he said. “But I’m not buyin’ it. I heard you talkin’ to someone on this thing. Who is it, by the way?” Katia could hear Shaw on the other end, asking what the hell was going on, but she could say nothing. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” he asked slowly. “You are aware I can have you brought in as a terrorist, correct?”

“Are you aware,” Katia heard herself saying, “that I’m a woman without a country?” She shifted a little, shaking her head and looking like this whole thing didn’t bother her at all. The feeling reminded her of when she killed 32. “I mean it’s not like there’s a country to send me back to. Russia might want me still, but you don’t want to sell a genetically engineered superweapon to the Russians, do you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“This.” Katia struck him, disorienting him, and snatched her phone back. “I’m busy,” she said to Shaw. “Call back later.”

“Katia—” But Katia hung up and struck Gorman again, knocking him out, and picked him up by the armpits, dragging him back into his mansion.

***

47 hummed as Katia reported the string of developments to him. “Why did you tell him the truth?” he asked after a moment.

“To disorient him. See, he would never believe me,” Katia explained. “Bruv, you know that they changed their minds, right?”

“On going to Russia?”

“Yeah. And I don’t know what to make of it. My heart and my gut say yes but I also know I need to listen to you. I mean, you’re no idiot, whatever else I might say about you.”

“Thank you for your kind words.” He sighed a little. “I’ve been considering the matter of Russia, and it’s clear to me now that this is not something one can reason you out of. This is something you need to learn on your own. I hate for it to come to this, but if you still feel you should, I’ll allow it.”

“I’ve…got no idea what you just said.”

He took a deep breath. “I’ll watch the Senator for you. Go find Martin.”

“Are…are you sure?”

He swallowed a little. “Yes.”

Katia paused a moment, not saying much of anything, and then hung up. 47 could guess at any number of emotions, and he was fairly sure most of his guesses were correct. He merely set his phone down, simultaneously not sure what he had just unleashed, and certain that this was best for Katia right now.


	31. 2016: Legends

Katia appeared in the boardroom at the J Edgar Hoover building in a little under forty-five minutes and said, “Sorry, I…I was preoccupied.”

“I still say this is dangerous,” Ian said.

“I know. For what it’s worth, so does my brother.”

“Have a seat,” the middle-aged man with longer hair said, and she did. “I’m Agent Peter Sadusky. This is Nelson Gates,” the man next to him waved, “and Sonya Odum.” The woman in question glared at her a little. She wondered what Martin’s estranged wife thought of her. “We understand you know these two.” He gestured to Ian and Shaw.

“Apologies for the confusion we must have caused you,” Ian said.

“It’s alright. I would have probably ignored you anyway,” she admitted. “I just needed an opportunity.” _And at least you thought of me before you left. Better late than never._ She scanned them all. “So where are we, do we know?”

“Great question,” Sadusky commented.

“He was kidnapped by Russians, we suspect to make a defector out of him,” Nelson Gates continued, folding his hands in front of him and leaning forward, watching Katia. “He’s probably being tortured as we speak.”

“How long?” Katia asked.

“He was at my place for a week,” Sonya said. “And then Tony Rice showed up telling him to hop on a plane to England. I tried to stop him.” And she sighed. “I failed, naturally.”

“So it’s about a month and a half,” Katia said. “How do we know he isn’t dead?”

“He was trained to withstand torture, extensively so, I might add,” Nelson Gates replied. “They’ve probably threatened a dozen times by now, but he didn’t take the bait.”

“How are you so sure?”

“The legends.”

***

Dmitry stared at the man in front of him, Ivanenko he said it was. He couldn’t help but smirk a little at the man’s arrogance, thinking he could say a few magic words to Martin and suddenly everything would go his way. That wasn’t how it worked, especially if Dmitry himself had anything to say about it. And he had plenty to say on the subject. Ivanenko continued to watch him, and Dmitry couldn’t help but laugh a little. “What’s so funny?” he asked in English.

“You think you’re talking to Martin,” Dmitry replied in Russian, and he smirked again and shook his head. “You’re not.”

Ivanenko cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? So who am I talking to?”

“My name is Dmitry Petrovich, and I’m Martin’s friend.” And he leaned back in the chair, laying his ankle on his knee. “And you’re going to let me go.”

Ivanenko watched him, his head and shoulders rocking from side to side. “And what makes you say that?”

“I say that because you won’t get what you want playing Martin.” He switched to English. “You want double agent. Martin can’t give that to you. You probably know this, but you press on anyway. Why? Don’t want to disappoint your bosses?” Ivanenko said nothing, so Dmitry nodded, taking that as a yes. “He’s no use to you, and you think controlling him is a good idea? How do you feel about the rest of us?”

“Rest of you?”

“ _Da._ Dittmann, Dante Auerbach, Egan, all the others. All the legends. They’re real, as real as you and me. They do not exist at Martin’s whim. We help him, sure, but it’s more…сложно…than that. More…complicated.” Ivanenko leaned back, watching him.

“You…protect him?” Ivanenko asked in Russian.

“How do you think Martin lasted this long? We all step in, do our part.” Dmitry shrugged. “You are really taking on…oh…seven different people? That is why you’re having so much trouble,” he added in English. “That is why you’re going to let me go.”


	32. 2016: The Interrogation Of Clancy Gorman

47 propped up a chair across from Senator Gorman, tied up and gagged with duct tape, and thrashing about as if, without the gag, he were cussing 47 out. 47 sat in the chair and adjusted his suit jacket a little before resting his arms. “My sister tells me you and our good friend Secretary Tomlin live next to each other,” he said. Gorman stopped moving, opting to glare at the bald man in front of him instead. “I’m not afraid of you,” 47 remarked. “I have only feared two men in my entire life, and one woman. Not that you would ever know. My sister told you the truth about us, so I presume you know about the suppressed fear, the lack of remorse…. You certainly don’t seem surprised by our existence.”

Gorman straightened, his glare softening into a highly cautious curiosity. 47 stood, walking slowly around Gorman as he grabbed his briefcase and set it on the dining room table, folding it open. “I could give you some platitude, say, ‘this will cause some discomfort’, but I don’t respect you enough for that. You see, I know your history, Senator. I know all about your affiliations, affiliations that, currently, I am adamantly against. Do you know that Verax is tied up with a number of genetic manipulation programs?” Gorman looked at him, and 47 glanced back. “It’s true.” 47 pulled a couple of knives, a syringe, and a small Wartenberg wheel from the suitcase. “I could provide you a list, but I’m not here to answer your questions. You’re here to answer mine.” He walked back around to his chair, but, before he sat down, he tore the duct tape off of Gorman’s face. Gorman swore, loudly.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?!” he demanded.

“I told you. I’m not here to answer your questions. You’re here to answer mine.” 47 picked up one of his instruments. “You cooperate, this will be fairly painless for you, besides the humiliation of being tied to a chair in your own home. If you don’t, however…” Gorman eyed the knife, like he wanted to swallow something. “Let’s start simple. Tell me your relationship to Jason Shaw.”

“He’s a good friend of mine,” Gorman said. “He’s the most patriotic man I know.”

“So you believe in his cause.”

“Damn straight I believe in his cause!”

“No need to yell,” 47 remarked. “It’s just the two of us, and I’m sitting right here.”

“I’ll yell if I motherfucking want to, you piece of shit!”

47 ignored him, examining his knife as if wondering if it were dirty. For today’s purposes, it could be as dirty as it liked, however he knew it was spotless. After all, he cleaned it. “So, you and Mr. Shaw were close,” he continued, not quite looking at Gorman. “Is it accurate to say that you are a Verax operative?”

Gorman scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This isn’t the time to play dumb. Are you, or are you not, a Verax operative?” To emphasize his point, he rested the blade on Gorman’s knee, turning it slightly so he could feel its edge. “Answer, or the pain starts.” Gorman defiantly said nothing, so 47 twisted the point into a nerve near his kneecap. The senator cried out, and 47 withdrew his knife.

Gorman panted and gasped a little as he met 47’s gaze. “OK, you sick fuck. You’re clearly serious about this.”

“When was I not?”

Gorman glared a little at his remark and continued. “Yes. I work for Verax. I’m their eyes in the Senate Judiciary Committee, making sure they get away with the shit they do, because…” he chuckled, almost like a madman, “…let me tell you, most of the shit they’ve done over the years is seven different kinds of illegal. Take Iraq for instance. Heard of a little place called Basra? Yeah, that was where the US was supposed to send the pacification funds. The billions in cash that went missing? That was us. We were supposed to guard the truck, that’s all it was. Instead we hijack the truck, take the cash, and kill all the witnesses who aren’t already Verax personnel. I wasn’t there, but I know all about it, and I dismissed the case. It was brought before me and I dismissed it.”

47 leaned back a little, considering him a little. “Is there more?” he asked, slightly curious.

Gorman laughed and shook his head. “Oh yeah,” he said. “There’s so much more. You think something like VERAX spends most of its time on the up and up?” He laughed and shook his head even more prominently. “See, there’s no competition for Verax. They’re allowed to run their own espionage operation. The CIA doesn’t like it, but they haven’t shut it down yet. I think they’re looking for something good, like they’re going to present it to the committee. Us or Joint Intelligence…” He scoffed a little, looking away. He sighed and looked at 47. “It’s just a matter of time before the CIA takes care of this matter with Ensign.”

“Perhaps they are,” 47 remarked, “but not in the way you expect.”

“Either way.”

“Let’s continue. You work for Verax, and Jason Shaw was a very close friend of yours. What, then, is your relationship with Secretary Tomlin? Is he an operative as you are?”

Gorman straightened his spine. “Yes,” he said bluntly. “Yes, Conrad works for Verax, same as I do.”

47 nodded a little. “And what are you planning?”

“Planning?” 47 cocked an eyebrow and twirled the knife a little. “Oh!” Gorman said, as if suddenly remembering. “Oh, yeah, right.” He took a deep breath. “We’re trying to mobilize the few resources we have to retaliate. No one likes what happened to us, what was _done_ to us. The guys on the ground are leaving in droves because _we can’t pay them_! Not only is it a fiscal disaster, it’s humiliating.”

“So you are mobilizing the counterstrike.”

“No one else will.”

“Fair point. You want vengeance. For not only Jason Shaw, but for Verax, for the blow dealt to them.” It made sense to 47, in a strange way, but any question of whether he would do the same thing or not was promptly shoved to one side. As long as Gorman was under the _illusion_ that he related to the predicament he faced, that was enough to meet 47’s ends.

Gorman watched him, not sure what to make of the change. He knew he was still at risk if he pissed off this mysterious bald stranger, whom he was almost certain was one of those shadowy Agents he kept hearing about. He also knew the man was trying to pry information out of him, and if he didn’t comply he was going to end up tortured and dead. Or worse: tortured and alive. “Something like that, yeah,” he finally conceded.

47 regarded him, leaning back in his chair and fiddling slightly with his knife. “What kind of force should your enemies expect?”

“You mean what kind of force should you expect.” 47 said nothing. Gorman scoffed a little. “Well, whoever the fuck is left, to be honest. That’s…what? Forty percent? I don’t know. They’re just supposed to go all in, no regrets, no questions asked.”

“Until we’re all eradicated.”

“You got it!”

47 stood. “Thank you,” he said bluntly as he stood at Gorman’s side. Gorman looked up at him. “Anything else I need to know?”

Gorman stared up at him. “Are you gonna cut me loose?”

47 considered him. “Yes,” he said. “On one condition.” Gorman cocked his head. “You’re going to help me get close to Tomlin.”

“And why the hell would I do that?”

“Well, you wouldn’t want to be tied up here for hours and hours until someone gets off work at eight-o’-clock or later to free you, would you? By then you’ll probably smell of feces and urine and look…a sight, to say the least. Now, how embarrassing would _that_ be?”

Gorman sighed. Even he had to admit that this guy had a point. “OK,” he said. “Tell me what you need.”

“That’s better.”


	33. 2016: The Committed Step

The group had divided itself in two, with Sadusky, Nelson Gates, and Maggie staying behind in the States and Katia, Sonya, Ian, and Shaw boarding a chartered private flight to Russia. Katia couldn’t help but look around the plane, pace its length and wander the entirety of the plane before perching herself on the sofa. “Feel safe yet?” Shaw quipped, smirking. Katia gave him a look, and Shaw merely laughed. “I’m just jokin’. I’d go over this thing with a fine-toothed comb, too.”

“Once we land,” Katia said, “there’s a couple things to know. Like most other places, people pick up on tourists, so the two or three of us who know Russian should do all the talking. Something else, some institutions from the Communist era are still alive and well. Which means surveillance, and the prison where Martin is being kept is likely to be very high security. We need to watch our toes.”

Shaw nodded. “A’ight,” he said. “Since we’re dealing with Russian spies, anything else we need to know?”

“Considering Russian spies, possibly old ones, you can expect anything from…Alzheimer’s and dementia to extreme calculation and…chess master-like behavior,” she continued, leaning her elbows on her knees and looking up at him. “Those two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Shaw nodded, his hands still on his hips as he ambled over to an armchair. “So…we’re looking at an older Russian spy who is probably demented, and definitely an experienced spymaster,” he said, as he took a seat. “Doesn’t look like the best of odds.”

“I’ve done a lot more with a lot less,” Katia remarked, thinking for a moment of her lifelong quest to find her father. She swallowed a bit and leaned back, folding her legs on the sofa. “I’m sure you have, too,” she said after a moment. “I hear it took you something like a year to escape from Octagon and even begin looking for Ian.”

Shaw laughed a little. “In my defense, I spent a lot of that time recovering from a nasty-ass fall.”

Katia smiled a little. “I see,” she remarked.

He chuckled. “Yeah, never trust two hundred year old wood. It was really a huge accident, and I did nearly die. I hate to say this of Octagon, but if they didn’t recover me when they did I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Katia nodded, biting her lip, and then chose to ask about the detail that stuck out to her. “Octagon? You don’t have to answer if it’s too difficult.”

“Oh no, it’s alright,” he said, right on the heels of her finishing her statement. “Octagon was the company that made me, and that made Damien. I’m basically an earlier unit, same as your case with 47. They produced a good three hundred of us before Ian and I sprung ‘em all.”

Katia bit her lip and nodded. “Do you know how they did it?” she asked. Shaw shook his head and shrugged. “What do you know about them?”

“Oh, plenty. Or rather, I know a lot about the routines they had for us, and a lot about guns because that was how they trained me. I know less about the inner workings, though I did see parts of a big investor meeting I eavesdropped on. After my breaks at freedom I learned a little more about them, about their reach and additional facilities, a couple other things, more about their investors…especially after I fell in with Ian, who started moving in a lot of very high circles very quickly.”

“And that was how you heard of them,” she deduced.

“Yeah. There was even a connection to Verax, to the point that Verax operatives were trying to protect Octagon.”

“There it is again,” she said quietly. Shaw hummed questioningly, folding his eyebrows together. “Verax,” she explained to him. “It seems to keep popping up everywhere, between this business with Martin, this business with you and Octagon, even in a roundabout way connected to my father’s life.”

Shaw lifted an eyebrow. “Well, Verax is everywhere. They have their fingers in everything. This whole fight with them started because they took over the FBI and framed Martin for a ‘false flag terrorist attack’.” He scoffed. “My ass. I wouldn’t be shocked if they had their fingers in what your father was up to, too. Thing with them is…they like their military-grade killing machines, human or otherwise.” Katia swallowed thickly. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah…just…thinking,” she replied.

“I’ve done it, too,” Shaw admitted. “It’s a weird thing to get used to, being not quite human. There’s no real context for it because most people don’t know we exist, and we look just like everyone else. Kind of like homicidal maniacs.” Katia smirked a little, and Shaw smiled. “See, I knew you’d laugh.”

“Was it weird?” she asked. “When you were free the first time. Was it weird?”

“Yeah, it was very weird. Only thing I knew was the lab where I grew up, so figuring out that I could do whatever the hell I wanted was…” He laughed, as if recollecting the bygone days of wild college parties he’d spent too drunk to recall much of anything. “It was an adventure,” he admitted. “What about you? What was it like for you being on your own?”

“Interesting,” she remarked. “It was a lot of focusing on staying alive and trying to find my father. Also trying to sleep, because I couldn’t bloody do it to save my life.”

Shaw chuckled. “Yeah?”

“Oh the things I’ve done just to fucking sleep.” She shook her head a little and leaned back. Shaw nodded in understanding but asked nothing more about it. He reasoned it was probably best to just leave it at that.

“So you and Martin are still working over his apartment?” he asked.

Katia smiled. “Yeah, yeah we are. The walls are almost done.”

“Oh yeah? That’s good. You guys need any help?”

“Well I still haven’t figured out what the hell we should do with those doors. I like the idea of the doors to the bedroom being mostly glass, but the particular _set_ is absolutely hideous!”

Shaw laughed. “I hear you. If you need ‘em smashed to bits I know a guy.”

“I’m sure you do.”


	34. 2007: A Brick Wall Requires A Redirection Of Energy

Ian sighed, rubbing his face and leaning back in the chair. This was taking longer than he expected. Part of him wondered if he had this right, or if the Americans had something different from the Brits that he couldn’t decode. He felt like he was missing a piece of the puzzle, and that was not a feeling he liked at all. He sighed finally, pulling himself to his feet, stretching, and heading downstairs for a break. His brain needed to rest for a bit before he could continue working on this piece of the puzzle.

He filled a glass of water and looked at the table, where Ben sat on one end and his crew sat at the other. He sat next to Shaw, who rested a hand on his leg in response. “Any luck?” Ben asked, not looking up.

“I’ve hit a wall,” Ian replied.

“Need help?”

“Unless you know a guy I doubt you’re the one who should offer such.”

“You never know.” Ian smirked a little. “Maybe you should sleep on it,” Ben continued, still not looking up. Ian caught the reference to how they had found one of the details that ultimately led them all to the Charlotte.

“That might work,” he remarked. “In any case I’m going to go back to it later, after I’ve done something else for a bit.” Shaw chuckled and looked at him, smiling and running his thumb back and forth on Ian’s thigh.

“OK.”

Ian leaned back a little and sipped from his glass. “Anything good on your end?” he asked.

“Not really,” Ben replied. “A lot of old newspaper clippings, most of it mass hysteria.”

Ian laughed. “Well, McCarthyism will do that to you.” Ben chuckled a little. Ian smirked. “Anything else?”

“Well, I’m looking for clues. You know how every rumor contains a kernel of truth?”

“Right.”

“Well, I’m hoping I can find some indication of his presence.”

“What? Like a published paper?”

“Well, no, a new business, someone moving in, something more like that.” Ian nodded; he’d forgotten that Ben was an archaeologist. The small pieces of information told the big story to a man like him. “I think…if I can find something probably connected to him, it will help put us on the right track.”

“Alright. Need help?”

“Yeah, can you sort through these and see if you find anything?” Ben asked, pushing a pile of documents toward Ian. Ian set the glass down and started spreading things out.


	35. 2016: City Of Lights

Katia stared out the window as they landed on a frosty runway in Moscow. The others on board with her were fast asleep, and the city was covered in stars and bedecked in lights. She exhaled, her breath fogging on the window a little as she thought briefly back to her memories of this place. Moscow was her city of lights. And, it was where they were to start their search for Martin.

She found herself asking herself what 47 had asked her: “Is Martin Odum really a man you want to win?” She exhaled again, closing her eyes.

***

_Martin smiled at her. “Looks good, I think,” he remarked, his hands on his hips as he considered the wall she was working on. The paintings had been taken down and catalogued to be put up in the proper places again, with updated frames._

_“Thanks,” Katia replied, smiling back. “How’s that piano coming?”_

_“I think I have to call a tuner. I could try to tune it myself but…” He shrugged. “The thing’s old, and with my track record, I’m probably going to break it.” Katia chuckled._

_“I can take a look if you want to take this over.”_

_“Alright.” He took the roller, and she wiped her hands off on a pair of overalls and walked into the piano room. She drummed her fingers on a few keys and listened, observing the strings._

***

_Katia leaned on the doorjamb, her arms crossed in front of her, and she smiled. Martin was on the sofa holding a cup of coffee with both hands, and he looked up at her. “What?” he asked._

_“Nothing,” she remarked, walking over to him and sitting next to him. “I always had this feeling about Dmitry, that he didn’t just help me for no reason.”_

_He looked at her. “Why are you telling me this?”_

_“I had feelings for him, and I had to force myself to forget him,” she admitted. “And…those feelings are coming back.”_

_“And how do you feel about that?”_

_“…Confused.” She sighed a little and looked away. “You’re already married, anyway. Don’t act like I don’t already know this.”_

_“Actually it’s…complicated. She wanted to make up with me but that was probably to keep me from finding out who I was,” Martin said, looking at her. “She and Nelson just wanted to protect me.”_

_“So that’s off the table now?”_

_Martin shrugged. “As far as I know.” Katia watched him, trying to accept this on face value but she didn’t really understand what it all meant. Did he know where he stood with his wife? And how could she know if he didn’t?_

_“So…where does that leave us?”_

_“Where do you want it to leave us?”_

_“Why are you leaving this up to me? Have you seen my decision-making skills?” This time, Martin laughed._

***

“Yes,” Katia said into the quietness of the cabin. “Yes, 47. Martin Odum is a man I want to win.”


	36. 2016: Sheremetyevo International

Shaw slung the two duffel bags over his shoulders and wheeled the suitcase behind him as he walked through the terminal toward Ian, Katia, and Sonya. The two women, he noted, were keeping their distance, and Ian was skillfully placed in between them and slightly favoring Sonya spatially. Sheremetyevo International Airport was just outside of Moscow in a country where “just outside of Moscow” included any journey lasting from half an hour to four hours or more. “You ready?” he asked them.

Ian looked at the women, who gave generic affirmative noises, and Ian nodded. “We’re set,” he said, smiling a little and clapping his hands.

Shaw nodded. “Alright then,” he said, and they started across the terminal. Katia slipped between them, something Shaw noted and came up to her side to ask her about it.

“I like to control who sees me,” she replied softly. “I don’t know who’s tied to those cameras.” Shaw looked at her somewhat strangely. “The last time, it was Syndicate International, and I was sloppy and almost got my brother and I killed. Forgive me if I’m a little paranoid this time around.” Shaw nodded, stepping back a little and paying slightly more attention to the security cameras.

Katia glanced briefly at Sonya. “So, you’re helping him with his apartment?” Sonya asked.

“That’s all that we’re doing, if that’s what you want to know,” Katia replied.

“I know. I’ve always suspected what happens on some of Martin’s missions.”

“That’s not your only problem?” Katia deduced.

Sonya shook her head. “It’s the distance more than anything. He’s away from home too much.” She sighed. “I quit the CIA to stay home and have a family with him. I never quite stopped wishing he’d do the same, but he never did.”

“Men aren’t mind readers,” Katia said quietly, with nothing other than understanding. “Talk to him, when you find him and he’s recovered a bit from what the Russians are doing to him. Tell him what you’re thinking and feeling. Try to communicate with him. And it goes both ways. He should try to communicate with you, too.”

Sonya looked at her. Katia wondered if she was expecting something else from the woman “renovating Martin’s apartment”. “I talked to him a bit,” she continued. “While we were working. He kind of assumes that making up with you is off the table now that the truth about you and his life as Martin is out.”

“He really thinks that?”

“He did a month and a half ago, before he left to spend the holidays with you. Or that was what he told me. Though why that Tony Rice character showed up I’ve got no idea.”

“Probably to tell him it was safe.”

Katia shrugged, brushing it off for now. “Is Aiden his?” she asked after a moment, looking back at Sonya.

“Yes.”

“Then at least try to talk this out and come to some kind of arrangement, alright? It’ll benefit everyone involved.”

Sonya paused a moment before saying, “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“We’re on the same side. Fighting each other won’t do much good. Besides,” Katia shrugged, “I don’t feel like fighting you over Martin, even if I do have feelings for him. I’ve always known he has is own life, and he has to get back to it eventually.”

Sonya looked at her. “You…” Katia looked back at Sonya, but said nothing. She’d said her piece already. Sonya regarded her for a moment and then nodded. “Alright.”

Katia quirked a smile. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“Well, we’re not even officially married.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was a thing I said to stay in legend and get Martin out of a dangerous situation.”

“Did you ever know his real name?”

“No. They said it was classified.”

Katia glanced at her again, humming a little. “He knows now,” she said. “Ian told him. And it’s probably weighing on him. If it were me, I’d cling to that amid all the lies a Russian spy would try to tell me to make me turn my coat, or whatever they want.”

“You think he remembers the things they want from him?”

“I don’t know, but it’s worth a shot.”


	37. 2016: Bedlam House

47 looked at his phone for a moment, before answering. “Hello?”

“Is Katia around?” He recognized the voice as belonging to Dr. Gates, and knew what this was about.

“She is otherwise occupied at the moment. Why do you ask?”

“I found something in Ian’s notes that she might want to take a look at.”

“I can do that,” he remarked smoothly as he looked at Gorman, still bound in his own dining room. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll be there in half an hour.” He hung up after being given an address, leaving Ben in some confusion, and turned to Gorman. He slid his phone into his breast pocket and unzipped a pocket in his suitcase, removing two small devices. He attached one to the lapel of Gorman’s polo, just under the collar, and he affixed the other to the back of Gorman’s neck, equally out of view. “One is a bug,” he said, “and the other is an electric shock device. You get me what I want, you don’t have to awkwardly explain why you’re being hit with several thousand volts in front of one of your best friends.”

“And what do you want?”

“I want you and Secretary Tomlin to lay out a plan. Go over things, assess the current state of affairs. Invite him to drinks,” he said, looking at Gorman as he returned to his suitcase, sliding on his leather gloves. “Shoot the breeze for a bit to calm him down. But make no mistake, Senator.” He closed his suitcase with a neat zipping sound. “I’ll be listening.” He removed one of the knives on his holster and swiftly cut Gorman free of the chair, before grabbing his suitcase and walking out the front door.

***

47 pulled into the driveway of an eighteenth century home that apparently belonged to Charles Carroll or was otherwise linked to him. He didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t paid much attention to Ben’s speech on the place. He listened to the wheels of his Audi crunch on the gravel of the driveway as he eased up to the front door, parking behind an obvious red convertible Ferrari and a silver, four-wheel drive Jeep. He left his suitcase in the front passenger seat and got out of the car. The door shut firmly as his footsteps crunched on the gravel on his way to the front door.

This place was surprisingly peaceful, and out of the way. It reminded him of the setting he had just left: wealthy politicians living in relative artificial seclusion and pretending they weren’t in a city. It wasn’t the most important or expensive place he could’ve chosen, but 47 had deduced it had close ties to his family’s history, so he could understand the sentimental significance of the place.

He paused on the front door, wondering for a moment if he had a place of sentimental significance. He thought back to the lab, hidden away in the basement of an old bedlam house, a corner of which had become Litvenko’s living quarters for himself and his family. Once he had snuck out of the lab and into this space, poking around, strictly reconnaissance and because he was bored. It was late, so everyone in the quarters had been asleep for several hours when he slipped inside. He wandered around, spotting the doctor and his wife, who had always seemed ethereal and unapproachable to him without his ever knowing why, and their young daughter in the next room, still in a crib and onesie. He guessed she was about one, or maybe a little less. He remembered distinctly that she stirred a little and opened her eyes, staring right at him, but did not cry. Now he knew it meant that she could tell he was safe, but back then it had confused him.

This thought process lasted a little less than thirty seconds, and he knocked on the door. A few moments later, Ben answered, smiling at him somewhat awkwardly and asking him to come in. 47 nodded curtly and walked in, making his way to the dining room table, all but buried under documents and pages of notes. “I presume there is an…order…to this chaos?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Something like that,” Ben replied, clapping 47 on the shoulder as he moved past him to the table. “These…” he said, picking up a few pieces of legal paper, “are Ian’s notes. He mentioned a coding system that had been in his family for generations, that his brother modified to communicate with him certain classified information for various reasons, most of it spite.”

“All due respect, Dr. Gates, please get to the point.”

Ben glanced at him, and then nodded and said, “Alright.” He grabbed a couple of sheets of legal paper. “The CIA and MI6 code the locations of their safe houses, and thanks to Ian and his brother’s efforts, we were able to crack these.” He handed 47 the pages, and 47 scanned them. “Recognize any?”

47 scanned the list quickly. In truth he recognized several of these places, but he also knew that these weren’t the places Ben was looking for. “No,” he said, handing the pages back to Ben. “You’re not looking for anything on this list. You’re looking for where he went after he went off the CIA’s grid. You don’t have those records.”

“What do you know?”

“Plenty. I understand Katia wants this place found, but I have personal reservations. I will support her, make no mistake, but I have personal reservations. I know your history of making your finds public, but I know people. There have been three hundred and fifty attempted thefts on finds from the Templar Treasure in the Smithsonian Castle in the past six months alone. Scale that up to every museum housing such artifacts across the globe, over the past twelve years. Now, apply that to whatever you suspect is at the end of this thing. I can tell you definitively you’re looking at a potential disaster, and blood will be on your hands, doctor. This isn’t about gold and trinkets. I hope you realize this.”

“I don’t know what’s at the end of this,” Ben said.

“Perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you do and you just don’t know it yet. Regardless, I’m sure you have suspicions. Consider them, and ask yourself if that’s something you really want to find.”

“You and your sister have final say in what happens to the find.”

“I know.”

For a moment they stood awkwardly around each other, Ben starting to get a little unsettled, and 47 looked at the table full of documents, newspaper clippings, and pages of notes, on everything from legal paper to old napkins. He walked over and examined some of them, much of it about the Red Scare and Senator McCarthy, a unique intersection of time and place and ideas that wouldn’t be allowed to happen elsewhere. He leaned over and looked at one of the clippings, turning it slightly to look at it better. Ben looked at him, hands on his hips and tilting his head, frowning a little.

“This,” 47 said, tapping on the picture. “Tell me what newspaper you found this in.”

Ben walked over and looked at the photograph 47 was indicating, an old asylum in the woods somewhere in West Virginia. “That was the…Washington Post, from July of 1965. There’s an attached article…Someone going by the name Petr Kozlov was looking at fixing it up.”

47 looked up and quirked an eyebrow at the alias. The doctor was clever, and not just in the ways of base pairing. Ben rifled through the papers before producing the article and handing it to 47, who took it and straightened, reading it. It was a modest clipping in a real estate section that was written because “one of our own” was looking at this fixer upper to be some kind of safe house for defectors or some such. “Great cover,” he said, laying the clipping back down on the table. “Thank you.” He turned to leave.

“Is this important?” Ben asked, incredulous. 47 said nothing as he moved to the door and opened it. “How do I find it?”

“You’ll figure it out,” he said simply over his shoulder, and he closed the door behind him.


	38. 2007: Jackie Makes Progress

Ian resumed work the next morning, combing through Ben’s collection of newspaper clippings as he worked on decoding the file’s location names. He worked tirelessly, either with paper and pen, or with a laptop, and his notes were never far from his side. Every so often, Ben or Shaw or the others would catch him sighing a little and rubbing his temple. Once, when he’d gone almost eight hours without eating or drinking much of anything, Shaw rested a hand on his shoulder, calling Ian’s attention to the present. “How’s about a break?” Shaw asked.

Ian shook his head. “No, I’ve…I’ve got this,” he replied, turning back to his work.

“Ian.”

Ian sighed and stood, letting Shaw trail his hand down his back. “Shaw?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Shaw smiled over his shoulder at him as they walked into the kitchen. “Sure thing,” he said. “So, anything new?”

“Not really,” Ian replied. “I’ve gone over things about six times now because I keep transposing letters, so I guess it’s a good thing you stopped me.” Shaw chuckled, and Ian smiled back.

***

Jackie frowned a little at the computer screen, displaying a list of Google results for Ensign, most of them linking it to either a naval rank or to Verax. She had been told this would happen, so she wasn’t surprised, necessarily, but rather annoyed. Riley made these sorts of things look so easy. She sighed and opened the link to Verax’s official website. It was organized and businesslike, as she would expect from any other website associated with a company. She scanned the ‘about us’ page and the contacts page and the list of notable patriots (rich donors and politicians), lists of programs and initiatives they contributed, and she caught sight of it.

It was a two-line blurb on the list of projects and initiatives, about Ensign, a “program designed to hold the country accountable through collection of private intelligence and other covert operations.” She bit her lip, highly suspicious already. Any company that described itself that way was automatically dangerous, if only because it could abuse its power like nothing else.

Sadly there was no link, save to the front page of a similarly designed website that had no useful information on it and only a vague picture of a glass building in the Virginia countryside. She sighed and leaned back in the chair. Nicole looked up at her. “Something wrong?” she asked.

“Oh, you know, the usual ‘we are a super secret special agency’ crap,” Jackie replied.

Nicole walked over and leaned over her shoulder, scrutinizing the screen. “So something about this Ensign is bugging you,” she deduced, looking at Jackie.

“Like nothing else.”

Nicole straightened and hummed. “Well we always say follow your gut, especially as Howes. I think this warrants more looking into, if you think something’s off and I think something’s off.”

“One’s an isolated instance, two is a coincidence.”

“Except there are no coincidences.” Nicole smiled. “So what does that tell you?”

“That this Ensign is up to something,” Jackie said. She took a deep breath. “I can maybe ask Riley to look into it, if he’s bored on the hunt.”

“He’ll need help.”

“I don’t know who Ian can spare right now but Phil is ideal to partner with Riley.” Nicole smiled and nodded, pleased that she and Jackie were on the same wavelength. She turned to her phone and dialed an international number.

***

Ian hummed when he heard the handheld ring, and he answered, “Howe.”

“Ian, it’s me,” Nicole said.

“Nicky, how are you?”

“As busy as ever.” He heard the smile in her voice. “Jackie and I have a proposition, but we need to know if you can spare Riley and Phil.”

“What’s the trouble?”

“Someone’s watching us, an anonymous tipster told us as much. We need a little assistance in probing them and hitting back.”

“What sort of someone?”

“Rather…a large corporation, a…company, as it were. I’m sure you’ve got some experience with that, or rather, that’s what I’ve been told.”

Ian nodded, understanding at once. “And what do you need?”

“Tech skills, and lots of time. On paper they’re watching one of my employees, so I’ve arranged for someone on my side to keep track of him, since I couldn’t wholly abandon him.”

“I understand.” Ian shifted a little. “So you’re asking for Phil and Riley for their technical expertise?”

“Precisely.”

Ian took a deep breath. “Well, you understand if there’s a breakthrough I want to keep in touch with them.”

“I wouldn’t dream of affecting that.”

Ian smiled. “I know. Alright, Nicky, tell you what. Phil is a hardware man, so his role is likely to be limited. But I’ll put you in touch with both of them to make the arrangements for each role in this little fact finding mission of yours.”

“Alright, that works better than I expected.” He heard Nicole chuckle, and laughed a little in his own right. “When can I expect that call?”

Ian pursed his lips a little. “Say…fifteen minutes?” he said.

“Alright.” She hung up, and he set the handheld down and stood.

“Where ya going?” Shaw asked.

“To track down Phil and Riley.”


	39. 2016: Gorman Baits A Hook

Gorman checked his tie in the mirror before he could meet Tomlin in the sitting room for glasses of whiskey. He was wearing a simple button-up shirt and slacks, but Tomlin was still in his blazer. Discreetly, he checked his earpiece. “Goin’ in,” he said softly.

“Understood,” 47 replied. “Remember, I’ll be listening.”

“I know,” he replied grimly, feeling with a cold sweat the electroshock device on the back of his neck. He took a deep breath for bravery and walked into the sitting room. “Conrad!” he greeted warmly, and Tomlin stood and shook his hand. “How the heck are ya?”

“All things considered?” Tomlin replied, straightening out his suit jacket. “It could be worse.”

“So our project’s going well?” Gorman asked, gesturing for Tomlin to sit and offering him a glass of whiskey, which he accepted.

“Actually on the contrary. We’ve hit a roadblock.”

“Can we take care of it?”

“We no longer have them, so it’s up in the air.”

“So what kind of roadblock is it?”

“The kid had a babysitter, an Octagon boy.”

Gorman nodded. He remembered the fiasco with Octagon well, and while he was pleased that a boy of that background could get stable employment and do well in this country, it still bothered him. “And your asset?”

“In stable condition but still in the ICU.” Tomlin crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair a little. “Apparently he was stabbed right in the neck, lost a lot of blood.”

“The Octagon kid?” Gorman sipped his drink.

“That’s not what the official report said. They said it was that kid, Aiden.” Gorman cocked his eyebrows.

“Odum’s kid?”

Tomlin nodded. “The very same.”

Gorman swore internally. That kid was becoming more and more of a problem with each passing day, just like his trouble-making father. “So what do we do about him?”

“Try to get him before he disappears into the system of safe houses.”

“Any word on where he is now?”

“Last confirmed sighting was he left with a friend of his babysitter’s family.”

Gorman took another sip and set his glass down, even though this entire situation was driving him to drinking. The last thing he wanted was to become an alcoholic like his father and brothers, so he tried to keep his alcohol consumption to a minimum. “So what do you know about the babysitter?”

“Nothing. That’s the distressing thing.”

“Surely he was named in the report?”

“Yes. Damien Howe-Shaw, a British national.”

“That’s a little more than nothing, isn’t it?”

“It’s a problem. It’s safer to say we have nothing. You do know who Ian Howe is, don’t you?”

“How could I not?” Gorman couldn’t help but ask. Everyone who knew anything about international relations or crime knew who Ian Howe was. The man was practically a legend.

“He’s the man who buggered up the Octagon operation, and I’m almost certain he’s the man who almost bankrupted us and the reason that we’re living on donations and personal finances, and why forty percent of our total workforce has left because we can’t sign the checks!” Gorman drew back a little, masking the urge to flinch, and Tomlin sighed, apologized, and sipped from his glass. “I hope you forgive me my anger.”

Gorman shrugged. “Oh, you know, with our whole world falling apart around us it’s kind of understandable.” Tomlin hummed, letting whiskey mull over his tongue while he thought.

“Clancy,” he said, looking at his companion. “We can’t keep living like this, in the position of the defender, the ones under attack. We need to take our power back.”

“What do you propose we do?”

Tomlin sighed. “What we need to do is find a way to contain Howe. That’ll be a challenge, you know.”

“The man is too connected to go down without a fight, or someone retaliating on his behalf.”

“We can handle London,” Tomlin reassured him.

“I’m not talking about just London. Howe is at the head of a massive international network of criminal contacts, in France and Russia, probably all of Eastern Europe, to say nothing of people he does business with in South Africa, some parts of South America, and even the United States. The right moves and the guy can mobilize an army, essentially.” To say nothing about arm it, fund it, get it high, get its enemies high, feed it, lead it to water, and whatever else it needed to function properly. “He’s a smart bastard, I’ll give him that much. He wouldn’t dream of this if we had the funds to counter him.”

“Any luck on finding the hacker?”

Gorman sighed and picked up the whiskey again. “Afraid not,” he replied. “Whomever it was, they’re good.”

“Or they had help.”

“Or both.”

“And finding the guy who applied for a job the day it all went to shit?”

Tomlin shrugged. “He’s in the wind.” Gorman pursed his lips a little.

“Anderson ever get a name?”

“Said it was a man named McGregor, no first name.”

“Not a lot to go on.”

Tomlin hummed in agreement. “There has to be something in the records.”

“Oh we’ve checked. This man McGregor deliberately left things blank to mask parts of his identity so he wouldn’t be found. He invalidated his own application under US law.”

“Which meant he never wanted a job with us to begin with.”

“So he was solely there to wreak trouble.” Tomlin nodded. “And all they found was some flash drive?”

“Yep.”

“They figure out what was on it?”

“Nobody’s told me if they know.”

Gorman bit his lip. Someone could sell malware like that for a good deal of money. “Is someone from Ensign watching the crew you’ve got on this?”

“You know I have a team on this, Clancy. I’m not stupid.” Tomlin sipped from the glass. “See what you can do about Howe. Trump up charges if you have to keep him in the country, though it shouldn’t be too hard, and get the FBI back on our side, whatever it takes. I’ll worry about the affairs within Verax. We can still save this, Gorman. This is still. Under. Control.” Tomlin’s tone had shifted markedly, something Gorman noticed almost at once. He took another sip of whiskey to mask his fear at this change in the Secretary of State. He simply nodded to show that everything was crystal clear, and Tomlin smiled a little, nodded, and said, “Good.” They sipped from their glasses; Gorman’s was almost finished. “Now that we understand each other…”

“I’ll take care of it.” Gorman could hear 47 hum, and could almost see the man frown, but he did his best to act like he didn’t notice.

“Good. But just so we’re clear, if this isn’t in hand by the end of next week, your ass is mine.” Gorman nodded, though he had a sinking feeling that he was doomed regardless.

Tomlin stood, and Gorman stood with him and shook his hand again. “Have a god night,” he said simply, and he showed himself out.

***

“Well done,” 47 said once he was sure Tomlin had left. “I have what I need.”

“So what happens now?” Gorman asked.

47 tapped the “end recording” button on his phone. “What happens now is, you die.”

“What?!”

“You’re useless to me now, Senator.” He pressed and held another button on his phone, and Gorman let out a loud, piercing cry as thousands of volts coursed through his spinal cord. His body shook, causing his shoes to clatter a little on the hardwood floor, and 47 noticed that his long scream had died out. He lifted his finger from the phone, and he heard Senator Clancy Gorman’s lifeless body collapse to the floor of his expensive Washington, D.C., mansion.


	40. 2007: Practice On The Lawn

After moving to England when she was nine, Jackie had changed profoundly. She refused to talk about her past before that, and for good reason, but she knew the people closest to her had figured out the details. They got to watch her bloom the way one does with a three year old, finding the self and exploring interests and the world, and her place in it. Among her new interests was gymnastics, which she all but threw herself into at the first available opportunity, spending all waking non-school hours working on tumble runs, flips, and leaps. Gymnastics then seamlessly blended with her lessons on how to defend herself, resulting in a style that was all her own, no matter the field in question.

Now, she was in the lawn of the chateau, working on a few tumble runs. They were greatly improved from the previous day, but her landing was still off, and she wasn’t perfectly satisfied with her pikes yet. She stood just outside the corner of a roped off ‘floor’ of grass, panting and chewing her lip a little. Her weight shifted from one foot to the other in an easy swaying motion, and she ran over the movements again in her head. The sequence was meant to involve her total body, it was a warm up routine designed to help her prepare for fights or infiltration work. But there was one part of it that just wasn’t working quite right, and that was starting to bother her.

Jackie was by no means a perfectionist. She was a huge slob in whatever room she stayed in, or she thought so at least. She was certainly comfortable with clothes lying about where they shouldn’t be and unmade beds and chairs being askew, though anyone who walked into her living space noted that besides some dust on the dresser and an end table or so, the room was always remarkably clean. But when it came to gymnastics, she liked it when she did her routines exactly right. She used to be something of a star, certainly a competitor, and that competitive spirit still lingered even when it was just her versus herself.

She thought about running through the routine again, but she was already starting to feel a little sore and she didn’t want to pull something due to damage. She sighed a little, deciding to get back at it later, and walked toward the chateau, picking up a Gatorade bottle and taking a swig as she stepped onto the stone path through the back gardens, a display of exotic flowers and elaborate topiary that was, this time of year, mostly green. Elena was near the fountain, playing with knives. “Where’s Nicole?” Jackie asked her.

“The office,” Elena replied simply, not looking at her. There was no animosity in this look, however, so Jackie nodded and walked back into the chateau. As Elena said, Nicole was in the office, hard at work. She knocked gently on the door, and Nicole looked up.

“Come in,” she said with a smile after the initial surprise, and Jackie stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. “How is it out there?”

Jackie smirked. “You’re missing out.” She sank into one of the guest chairs and took another large swig from the bottle. “Any news?”

“I got Riley and Phil on board for our little thing against Ensign. I gather Riley jumped on board, so I assume you two are on good terms.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Good to know. Anyways, Riley will be flying over within the week; you two can start working on breaking into Ensign’s systems and see what you can find. Phil will follow shortly after in case you need to use hardware to access what you need.”

“Ian’s OK with this?”

“It’s early in the hunt, he’s willing to divert some of his resources temporarily. Plus, all things considered, he wants Phil and Riley out of the line of fire in case things go faster than he predicted. After what happened in London he wants to make sure the weakest members of his group are safe.” Jackie nodded, temporarily flashing back to the explosion. But, she knew, the easiest way to deal with this was to march right through it. “Besides, I gather Phil’s looking forward to hanging out with us in the south of France for a while. It’s starting to get nippy in London, I gather.”

Jackie smirked. “Can’t blame him.”

Nicole smiled back. “Of course not. So, how’re you feeling? I saw you out there working on your routine. It looks good.”

“It looks better than last week. I’m still having trouble with my twists and my pikes, among other things.”

“You’re picky.”

“Only as picky as Mercedes with her dives.”

Nicole nodded. “Just let me know when you’re happy with it.”

Jackie smirked. “Oh, believe me, you’ll know.”


	41. 2016: Russia

Ian sighed a little and toweled off his hair as he stepped out of the shower onto the elaborate tile floor. The steam floated around in the bathroom and he had to wipe off the mirror if he hoped to get anything done. However, he had shaved beforehand, so he wasn’t too worried about that. He finished toweling off and wrapped it around his waist before walking into the main room of the suite. Katia averted her eyes for a moment, and Ian suspected it was more due to thoughts of Martin than any sense of respect for Ian’s person specifically. He retreated to one of the two bedrooms and started to get dressed when his attention was drawn to his phone, resting on the nightstand.

He buttoned his jeans and walked over to it, waking it and realizing that he’d missed two phone calls and gotten a notification that he had an email. He considered the email first, as it was from a withheld address, and he opened it, finding an encrypted jumble of letters. Seconds later, he received another email with the password, and he realized this email was not delayed but triggered to send when he got around to opening this. He entered the password provided and gained access to the full email, a curt, businesslike missive informing him that Secretary of State Conrad Tomlin was plotting an attack against him. Ian Howe had been personally flagged as an enemy of Verax.

Ian swore and threw the phone onto the bed, unmade but not wholly a mess. This, now this was a problem. He sank onto the bed and ran his hands through his hair, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor. He should have seen this coming, true, and that in itself was not the problem. The trouble was that the Secretary of State could easily find him, know what he was up to, and interfere at any point.

The goddamned problem was that the clock was ticking.

He shot to his feet and snatched his phone, intending to storm out into the main room, but he stopped himself. He took a moment to try to compose himself before exiting the bedroom, still sans shirt. “We’ve got a problem,” he said.

Katia looked up, glancing first at his face and then at his phone, and back again. Ian caught on, and approached her, turning the phone to face her. She took one look at the email. “47 sent this,” she said.

“If you say so.”

“The Secretary of State will soon find out that you’re in Russia looking for your brother, and within twenty-four hours will pay an official state visit. That’s what it says on paper, of course, but in practice it will be a personally-spearheaded manhunt for you.” Ian nodded. Katia scanned the others in the room with her and then sighed. “We have to keep going,” she decided.

“Why?” Sonya asked.

“It’s the only way. We can’t bait the hook for Tomlin and look for Martin at the same time. It’s as plain and simple as that.”

“So you’re suggesting that we…” Shaw began.

“I’m suggesting that we keep moving and act like this doesn’t affect us at all. Not only will it lead Tomlin right to us, it’ll drive him nuts.” She didn’t say that she had been tasked with interrogating the guy before she foolishly ditched that in favor of some vague, nameless hunch and her feelings for a man who was probably unavailable.

“Please tell me you actually have some kind of a plan here,” Sonya said.

“Of course I do.” She wanted to give Sonya a snappy remark about declaring herself married to essentially random strangers to get them out of dangerous situations, and founding entire relationships on lies, but she held her tongue. Not out of any sense of duty or common purpose, no, simply because she felt that things had generally been settled, and she didn’t want to drag the woman through her emotional crap. “We lead Tomlin right down our path. He’ll probably piss off a few Russian KGB members, and that will take care of the rest.”

“That’s actually quite clever,” Ian remarked.

“Thank you,” Katia said with a smug, self-satisfied smile.

“We still have about twenty-four hours to get a head start on finding Martin, let alone recover him and begin getting him back to the States,” Sonya commented.

“He’s not going back to the States,” Ian said, and everyone looked at him. “It’s not safe for him there. I’ll take him back to London, I have a place there where I can be sure of his safety.”

“And that’s somehow…better than him going back to his own country.”

“England is his country,” Katia cut in, looking at her. “Martin is legally a British national.” Sonya regarded her for a moment before nodding and looking back at Ian.

“So how do we start finding Martin?”


	42. 2016: Task Force One Moves Out

Diana hummed, looking at the file and then closing it briskly with a sigh. It was another assignment for 47, as if the higher-ups and the contract department didn’t know that 47 was no longer officially with the Agency. Instead he had gone rogue, choosing things as he pleased and primarily devoting himself to protecting his sister, Katia. The real trouble was that Diana couldn’t find a single fault in this. She knew she had originally sent him to execute the woman, but she had proved too hard to kill, and he had proved too unwilling to pull the trigger on her. He stood by his family, though he was to feel no emotional ties or sentimentality whatsoever.

She personally found this admirable. And her bosses did not. They had sent an agent to terminate him for his insolence, and then they had tried to pretend this had never happened. First it was the assignments, a regular stream consistent with his prior schedule, but she knew they knew that he was either not getting them or refusing to do them. And then it was the meeting this morning. She noticed the board had acted like nothing had changed, creating a massive elephant in the room that colored every word they spoke. When she finally was released back to her office, she couldn’t wait. Now she pondered the next assignment she would have to discreetly pass to another handler, and she desperately wanted to pour herself a glass of wine from her secret stash.

Instead she sighed and slid the folder away from her, leaning back in the office chair and turning it toward the wide, full-length windows that made up one wall of her office—a perk of being the handler to the most profitable agent the ICA ever had. Diana sighed again and closed her eyes, gently leaning her head back. 47 was the best thing to ever happen to the ICA, but it had always kind of lingered that if he turned on the company, it would be the worst thing to happen to them. He hadn’t begun to attack them directly, but his actions to protect his sister were dangerously close.

John Smith was in the wind, so she could no longer rely on the bulletproof man to keep tabs on Katia and 47. If she assigned another agent to the case that agent would end up dead, and agents were too valuable to compromise like that. She opened her eyes, her head canted slightly, and she looked out the window over Chicago. Her hand went to her phone, and she tapped a few buttons. Within seconds the phone was ringing, and after two rings, she had an answer. “Agent Bolton,” Paul replied.

“Bolton, how fast can you get your team together?” Diana asked.

“Five minutes. What’s the order of the day?”

“I need you to keep tabs on an asset for me.”

“OK, which one?”

“47.” This was a secure line, as all internal lines in all ICA office buildings were, but it still felt like a betrayal to say his name. It felt like a secret she was divulging.

She heard Paul shift in his chair, and it was all the confirmation she needed that he was in the team’s task force office. “Last confirmed sighting?”

“Washington, D.C.”

Paul hummed. “Yeah, I’ll get the team together. What do you need to know?”

“Keep track of him, and report to me where he is and what he’s doing. If you can find his sister, I need to know where she is, as well.”

“You got it.” Paul hung up, and Diana ended the link and settled a little into the chair.

***

Paul sighed a little after he hung up the phone, and he stood and walked out of the office to the elevator. He pressed the down arrow and, when it arrived, pressed the button for the floor containing the training rooms. He buried his hands in his pockets on the ride down and then stepped out when the doors opened, turning to a mostly empty training room where Decker was waiting, rolling his ankle to work out some soreness. When Paul entered, he pulled himself to his feet. “Sir,” he said, somewhat questioningly.

“Where’re the others?” Paul asked.

“Boxing the shit out of the punching bags next door.”

“I need them. Now.”

“Yes, sir.” Decker walked briskly down to the hall to another training room and pounded on the door. Paul saw another of his men poke his head out the door, and they briefly exchanged words. A minute or so later eight guys filed out of the room, sweaty and smelling like a football team, smiling at Paul, watching them with his hands on his hips.

“We’ve got a mission,” he said. “I’ve got a plane being loaded up with our gear, we’re gonna shower on it.”

“So we need to be out ASAP,” Stan deduced.

“Exactly.”

“Where to?” Decker asked.

“Washington,” Paul replied, turning back to the elevator. The men followed him. “We’re going to track down one of our lost assets.” Paul knew he was making it sound easy, and that the facts of the case were considerably more complicated than all of that made it sound, but it was the fastest way to get the guys moving and he couldn’t afford to waste a second. Not with something as big as this.


	43. 2016: John Howe Escapes

The Russian countryside around Sosnovka was hit by a bitter cold snap in the night, which meant good luck getting a car to start, and a lot of people grumbling and trying not to break something as they slid over the sidewalks of cities and towns. Martin in particular could hear a lot of this in the early morning hours from his cell. The prison itself was very quiet, to the point where he wondered who had frozen to death and who was left alive but with severe hypothermia and frozen off body parts, and sounds drifted up to him through the cold night air. He lay on his cot, wrapped in a prison issue blanket that reeked of the pretense at looking out for them and trying to keep them alive, with little actual substance behind said pretense, and he continued to consider his options.

They were remarkably limited.

He could either, continue to stay in this cell, slowly rotting from the inside out while the bitter Russian winter wore on, or, attempt an escape in the cheesiest and most predictable way possible. And that was about it. Martin sighed, watching his breath form a crisp fog in front of him as it drifted away and dissipated. Thoughts tickled at the edge of his mind, thoughts that he had long since learned to recognize as coming from the individual legends themselves. _I need to get out of here,_ he thought. _I’m going insane._

Dmitry was talking to him about guard rotations, Dante about the best ways to take them out, Martin was even sure he could detect Lincoln in the corner somewhere, curled up in a ball and shaking, whimpering something unintelligible. He felt something else, too. It was that sense of determination and anger at the situation that didn’t entirely feel like it belonged to Martin specifically, even if it was his. He wondered if this individual was John, his real identity, but he couldn’t be sure, and this new character wasn’t talking. That was a great big fat help.

Martin sighed and sat up, realizing he couldn’t rely on other people forever. He unwrapped himself from the blanket and walked over to the door, leaning against the small window. There was one young, fresh-faced guard standing next to the door, watching the hallway. His cheekbones were pronounced, but he still looked like he couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Martin licked his lips and for a moment he hesitated.

_You have to make a decision,_ he thought, and he heard himself knock on the door. The guard turned around, quirking an eyebrow. “Need something?” he asked, in English with a very gruff Russian accent.

“Yeah, I need help with the bloody heating pipe,” Martin replied. The guard sighed, looking back and forth along the hall, and muttered, “Alright,” before letting himself into Martin’s cell. Martin stepped back to allow him room, and the guard immediately turned toward the pipe. He seemed a little antsy, as if he wanted to get back to his post and still look like he was doing a good job, staving off execution for another day. But Martin knew as well as anyone that that was not going to happen. Before he could change his mind, he shoved the guard into the wall, palming his head and smashing his temple against the concrete. The poor kid dropped at once, and before much commotion could be raised on the subject, he raced out into the hall.

A much surlier guard yelled after him, and Martin turned to face him. The two men were roughly the same size, but the one was all muscle and the other had been in prison for he had no idea how long and had kind of atrophied a little. This was going to be interesting. The guard approached him briskly, but Martin noted he hadn’t called anyone else for assistance. Martin became aware that he had pulled the guard closer to himself and drove his fist deep into the man’s gut. The guard doubled over, and Martin kicked him in the head. He felt like he was on the outside looking in, as he had in one or two of his interrogations with Ivanenko. He watched his hands catch the guard’s head while he struggled back to his feet and drive it into the wall. The sound it made was very loud, but Martin himself barely heard it. The guard was bleeding from the head trauma as he collapsed to the floor, and Martin now felt he was watching helpless while his foot stomped on the man’s head three, four, six times.

It felt like he was falling. Not downward, but back. Back into a strange abyss from which he had probably been created but couldn’t be sure. He felt that his connection to his physical body had, for perhaps the first time in years, severed.

***

John sighed a little, stretching out his neck and scanning his new surroundings. Cold and cement didn’t work for him, he decided, and he started down the hall. “Now,” he muttered. “Let’s get me the hell out of here.”


	44. 2016: A Drive Across The Country

Katia sighed, frowning over the stacks and stacks of files of nothing in particular. Shaw held a flashlight to a folder as he scanned it about ten feet away from her, and looked up when she slammed the folder shut and tossed it aside with a sigh. “What’s up?” he asked. “You find something?”

“Martin, under Alexei Volkov, is being kept in a prison in Sosnovka, the one on the peninsula that’s freezing as balls,” Katia replied.

“Well, that’s a start.”

“It’s a start that means he’s probably frozen to death by now, or if he hasn’t getting him in and out will be a lot harder for it. Do you know how low temperatures got last night?”

“In Moscow? Minus twenty Centigrade.”

“In Sosnovka, then? Probably minus thirty or forty. Cars don’t start, things freeze shut, good luck getting anywhere without risking hypothermia. Martin wouldn’t be issued more than a thin blanket probably.”

“So you’re saying he literally can’t leave the walls of the prison without freezing to death.”

“Unless he finds a generator or we get to him first.”

“Then we’d better come prepared.”

Katia nodded, and she picked up the relevant files, passing them to Shaw as she started for their exit. Shaw stuffed them into the duffel bag on his shoulder and adjusted it slightly as he fell into step behind her. The archives they had just infiltrated were connected by an obscure back door to a short corridor and a boiler room where even the air was full of rust. Behind the old, out of service boiler was a freshly dislodged panel of metal that they had used to break their way in and through which now they carefully threaded their way out. Shaw followed Katia through the narrow, dusty tunnel, and while they moved, both of their minds were at work on the next phase of the plan.

Katia’s fingertips grazed against the metal manhole cover, distracted from her thoughts suddenly, and pushed it up and to the side before hauling herself to the surface of a dusty Moscow backstreet where their only cover was a string of interesting prostitutes, each catering to specific fetishes, and their johns if they had them. She reached down to help Shaw out and looked around over her shoulder. The moon hung in the sky and the sounds were distant. Something about this area seemed quiet and still to an astonishingly unsettling degree, though she had every confidence in the world that she and Shaw could fight their way out of a small army if absolutely necessary. She buried her hands in her pockets as they walked down the alleyway.

Katia pulled herself into the back of the waiting van, parked on the sidewalk of a seedy-looking street with remarkably fewer prostitutes than the one they took to get here, and Shaw pulled himself into the passenger seat beside Sonya, who immediately pulled away. “Find anything?” Ian asked.

“We need to go to Sosnovka,” Katia replied. “Now.”

“It’ll be a good, two or three day’s drive.”

“We can’t hang out in Moscow.”

“I think she’s talkin’ about these,” Shaw replied, shrugging off the duffel bag and handing it over the back of the bench seat to Ian, who opened it to reveal several stolen files.

“They’re all about Alexei Volkov,” Katia explained when Ian looked at her. “There was a program in the seventies to imitate a British school, run by a double agent, designed to raise Russian children in the British way and make them double agents. The design was for them to be undetectable. They learned British history, manners, customs, all of it. And then, once they aged out, they would become spies.”

“Whether they wanted it or not,” Ian noted. Katia nodded as if to say, “Precisely.”

“And this…Alexei Volkov was one such student. He attended what was somewhat presumptuously called The Sedley School.” Katia watched as Ian’s expression shifted, his eyebrows simultaneously drawing together and lifting. “Sound familiar?”

“Sounds like where my father sent my brother for a so-called proper education,” Ian replied. “John was there one term and when he came back he had changed completely.”

Katia turned to the files, pulling out one and opening it, revealing, paper-clipped inside, a photo of a young blonde boy. “Did John look like this when he was younger?” she asked, indicating the photo.

“Almost exactly. Why?”

“The Sedley School only accepted Russian students they gave English names to, with perhaps a handful of native British boys for cover purposes, but that was later. There was one reported death due to a schoolyard fight, Alexei would’ve been twelve, and your brother?”

“Eleven.” Katia nodded, feeling the pieces come together in her mind. “If you don’t mind, where are you going with this?”

“One second, please. How did your father get your brother into this school?”

“He sacrificed his entire life savings and the joint account he had with my mother. We were foreclosed upon within the month. The fighting was constant, and I locked myself in a neighbor’s tree house one night just to be able to sleep.”

“High pay, which the school would’ve needed, plus a boy who could pass as a replacement if need be…. Anything else I need to know?”

“When my brother came back, I switched places with him. I assumed his identity and went to school in his place, and he to a different school in mine. I saw how life was there, and I learned to fight back as hard as I could. The boy known as John Howe was later expelled, and I could return to school with my brother.”

“The boy Alexei?”

“I think now that the reason our mysterious Russian friend keeps calling John Alexei is because Alexei is the one who is dead.”

“And he couldn’t believe it so he assumed John to be Alexei, even had some papers shifted around. But that never happened on the British end. Why?”

Ian shrugged. “I presume because I got him expelled. After that there was just no point in getting to it at all.” Katia nodded, considering it a usual bureaucratic delay followed by Ian’s shenanigans in his youth.

“And then afterward he becomes a spy anyway.”

“But not a double agent. If he reported to anyone outside of the official channels, it was probably me.”

“For no particular reason?”

“Primarily, yeah.”

Katia hummed, leaning against the wall of the van and closing her eyes, sighing. So, that was the Russian’s game: pretend John was Alexei for as long as possible to cover up the real Alexei’s death. And that was why the Russian wasn’t letting go of the idea. He needed it, for a lot more reasons than his personal reputation. “Can you pass me that file you’ve got?” she asked. “I need to check something really fast.”

“Alright,” Ian replied, handing her the file. Katia rolled her head a little and turned a few pages before spotting it. In clear, bold type was the name of the man her mother had been asked to track down before she found Dr. Litvenko. Vladimir Ivanenko. A slimy rat bastard whose mere presence seemed to make everything make sense. “Do you have a way to get in touch with Riley?” she asked, looking up.

“May I ask why?” Ian asked.

“I need help finding something.”

“What kind of something?”

“About my mum,” she said in a soft voice. Ian nodded, passing her his phone.

***

Riley winced a little, stretching at an awkward angle to grab his phone before settling back into something more comfortable. “Hello.”

“It’s me, Katia,” the woman on the other end replied. “I know you don’t know me very well but I need you to listen, and I don’t have a lot of time because I’m on Ian’s phone and he’ll probably strangle me if I spend too much of his money on an international call.” Riley guessed that that was a joke, as pretty much everyone who knew Ian knew the man literally had too much money, but he appreciated the delivery nonetheless.

“OK, what do you need?”

“Anything and everything on a man named Vladimir Ivanenko.”

“The Russian Spymaster?”

“That’s him.”

“That’s gonna be tricky and I can’t read Russian.”

“It’s alright. Just get the files and send them to me or Shaw. If you can.”

“It’s gonna be tricky, like I said.”

“Do your best.” Katia hung up with that, and Riley set the phone down and turned his attention to his laptop. He pulled up a reliable Russian-English dictionary website and opened the Terminal.


	45. 2007: The Easiest Way

“Wow,” Riley mouthed, dropping his bag as he looked around at the chateau in Marseilles. It was big and expansive and posh and he could swear it was just one big example of conspicuous consumption by one of Ian’s criminal relatives.

Phil laughed beside him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Pretty great, huh?” he asked with a broad smile.

“Pretty huge and fancy.” Secretly, Riley wished he could have a place like this, and made a mental note to get around to it after the latest round of medical bills cleared, taxes were paid, and other paperwork sorted out so he could actually, you know, keep the money. At least this time it wasn’t a half of a percent of the total value of their find. And of course, no one knew about the gold bricks and he was not about to call attention to them. At all.

“Let’s set up,” Phil said as he made his way to the dining room, some kind of expansive vision out of a magazine on easy living with a long dining table, candelabra and all, and eight or ten chairs. Riley chose one near one of the corners of the table and hefted his computer bag onto the surface. He pulled his laptop out without much preamble and signed in. “So, what’re we looking for?” Phil asked, sitting opposite Riley, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms across his chest.

“We’re looking into a company called Ensign, a subsidiary of Verax,” Riley replied.

“The supplier for the US Army.”

“Yep.” He popped his lips on the “p” sound, using a tone that suggested it was exactly as seedy and disgusting as it sounded. He opened his web browser first, looking for what he could find without having to do something crazy, illegal, risky, and time-consuming.

“What are they, like…?”

“They’re like a super-secret CIA, except they don’t answer to any government. They only answer to Verax.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Who watches the Watchmen?”

“Well we already know that the people who are _supposed_ to do that aren’t the most trustworthy bunch. I wouldn’t be shocked at what they let them get away with.”

Riley hummed in agreement and started typing in the Terminal window. He bit his lip as he wrote out the very bare bones of the script he wanted to engage on the Ensign server, something that would copy their documents to an external hard drive and then delete all traces of itself. Riley was no idiot, or at least he didn’t like to think of himself that way. Phil pursed his lips and stood, walking around the table and leaning slightly over Riley’s shoulder to observe him. “Y’know, I have a spare laptop,” he said, gesturing to the bag. “Could you do me a favor and see what you can find on Ensign’s servers?”

“Like what?” Phil asked as he retrieved the bag.

“What their server is called, for one. What kind of encryption they use. I’d guess two-point, a password and a token of some kind, but that’s just a guess.” Riley hummed and reread his draft script. It was a good start, but it wasn’t quite good enough.

“Alright.” Phil took the laptop from the bag and positioned himself across from Riley again. Riley instructed him to use a guest account for signing in, and he revised something about his script. Phil did some poking around in his own right. He knew enough coding to get him poking ever so slightly around Ensign, maybe get noticed as a blip on someone’s radar that would maybe be investigated for a while before being deemed a false alarm, but that was about it.

He did, however, manage to get the name of the server. “They call it Excalibur,” he said to Riley, and quickly added, “as if _that_ wasn’t pretentious,” in a low grumble just loud enough for Riley to hear but no one else. Riley cracked a smirk in response. “You were right, it’s a two-point security system requiring a combination of token and password that have to be recognized by the system. The tokens are going to be the hardest part.”

“Right,” Riley said, tweaking his script accordingly. “So find the current tokens, get an attached password, and that gets us in.”

“But there’s also tiers of access.”

“So we need the _right_ token.”

“We get the access of the guy at the top, we get everything we want.” Riley smiled. He liked the way Phil thought. “So, how are we doing this?”

Riley looked up. “Hm?”

“How do we get the codes we need?”

“Well,” Riley began as he leaned back and looked briefly at his computer screen. “The easiest way to get a token code is the token itself, which would be in the constant possession of anyone using these computers on a regular basis, even just to check their Hotmail accounts. So…someone’s gotta find the address of a top guy at Ensign and break into his house in the middle of the night and steal his stuff.” Riley finished by looking at Phil. It was an obvious solution in his mind, and he let himself note that he’d gotten a lot more lax these days about breaking the law. Ben Gates had that effect on people, apparently.

Phil regarded him, nodding in agreement. That was perhaps a better plan than he was expecting, and a keyboard could only get them so far. “I’ll call Ian,” he said.

“Sounds good,” Riley replied, and he made another tweak to his script.

Phil stood and walked into another room, fishing out his cell phone and pressing a button on speed dial. He waited for a few rings and then he heard Ian answer. “Howe.”

“Hey, boss.”

“Have something? Already?”

“Have a plan, actually, but I need help.”

“What sort of help?”

“Big help.” _Crappy word choice._ He cringed at once.

“Muscle, then. Plotting a break-in?”

“Yep.”

“What for, may I ask?”

“A token to access a server.”

“Your work with Jackie?”

“It’s the easiest way in. I’m praying we’re dealing with an idiot who also wrote his password down, too.”

Ian chuckled at that. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll send Powell as extra back-up. See if Riley wants to come, too.”

“Sounds good.”

“What’s going on?” Phil turned to see Jackie standing in the doorway, unfolding her arms from her chest and taking a few steps inside. She didn’t seem annoyed or mad, but most definitely looked curious.

Phil lowered the phone a little. “We know a way to get into Ensign’s servers, but we need to do a little traveling first,” he explained, as quickly as he could. Jackie nodded, as if to say, “Alright,” and Phil returned to his phone call. “Yeah, that was Jackie.”

“How is she?”

“Looks OK. Curious about what we’re doing.”

Ian laughed. “Guess we better drag her along.”

“You know I was thinking that from the start.” Phil smiled, and then he sighed a little. “How’s the hunt going?”

“I’ve gone over Ben’s collection of newspaper clippings and found something kind of strange.”

“Oh?”

“We keep encountering articles detailing the life of a man named Petr Kozlov, which we suspect to be an alias. Believe me, we’ve been checking.”

“OK, well this’ll be fast, a week at the most. Call us if you need anything.”

“Will do.” Ian hung up, and Phil pocketed his phone.

“Wanna come break into a guy’s house with us?” he asked Jackie.

Jackie grinned. “Hell yeah!” she said.


	46. 2016: The Black-Clad Highwaymen

The path John left through the prison in Sosnovka was bloody and littered with the moaning and the unconscious, or the dead. He faced guard after guard who tried to corner him, bashing heads into walls or other heads and kicking out legs or striking the groin. A few guards managed to open fire on him, but he kept moving, charging for them and slamming into them to disarm them. A couple of bullets grazed his skin, slicing it open and leaving thin lines of red. He barely seemed to notice.

At one point he ducked inside a storage closet, panting heavily but quietly, and covered his mouth with his wrist. Damn, it felt good to be back in his own body. He had to fight his way out of a Russian prison in it, but it still felt good. His eyes went to the corner of the wall nearest his right side, drawn by a movement. The remaining guards were raising some kind of commotion about his disappearance and the path of injuries he left in his wake. He took a breath and slipped out of his hiding place. Immediately two guards shouted and turned to him, trying to get his attention. He kneed one in the gut and drove his head into the wall, and as for the other, he had to pull the man back to incapacitate him, as he had nearly shat himself and was trying to run.

He nearly jogged down the corridor, glancing at a window to try and guess how close he was to the exit. Sosnovka was dangerously cold, and he wouldn’t get very far on his own. He ducked into the offices of the skeleton crew running the place, nabbing a fur long coat and hat, and shrugging them on as he moved toward the employees only exit. He instantly hunched his shoulders against the cold, a blustering wind that could only be found in parts of the United States and the very north of Russia. He buried his hands in the jacket’s pockets and started toward the parking lot, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the prison, a bland concrete powerhouse in the middle of nowhere. It was a place you put the people you wanted to forget about, or pretend to forget about in order to manipulate them.

He returned his attention to the lot, scanning the ten or so cars there and contemplating his next move. He could _walk_ to Moscow, but besides it being suicidally insane and impossibly stupid, he just didn’t want to. The cars were all locked, and he couldn’t find one with the keys in it. With a sigh, he stepped onto the street and started toward Sosnovka proper. As in the cell, his breath formed clouds of fog before his face, only now he was required to hunch his shoulders against the wind.

John flashed back to all the missions he did on the other side of the Curtain for Six. Eastern Europe, Russia, rebellions and gulag prisoners, future kingpins and old, disillusioned soldiers, and none of it was ever this fucking cold. He decided then and there that he officially hated Sosnovka. Period.

On a patch of ice, his feet threatened to slip out from under him and land him on his back. He corrected easily but swore under his breath. The crunch of snow under his shoes reassured him, and he started to relax again. _Shit._ It was a little too close for comfort. He swallowed and looked around, scanning the snow in the sunrise, glistening and reflecting a golden-yellow light that matched the sky with remarkable accuracy. He almost licked his lips before thinking better of it against the bitter cold.

A car drove past, headed toward either the prison or the sea, and John stepped into the street, waving it down. The driver slowed to a stop, puzzled at the appearance of this man, and John walked around to the driver’s side window, gesturing for him to roll it down. He did so. “ _Chto vam nuzhno?_ ” he asked. John reached in and slammed the man’s head against the steering wheel two, three, four times, until the man slumped against the door. John opened the door and threw the man out of the car, toward the side of the road. He climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut behind him, pausing for a moment to warm his hands up by the car vents before pulling a U-Turn in the road, skidding a little on the ice, and heading in the direction the man had been coming from.

***

Katia winced a little at the sunrise, glinting off the horizon and the snow and ice in the countryside. Shaw slumped against the passenger side door, asleep, and Sonya and Ian were passed out in the back. It was day two of their trek to Sosnovka and Katia had already seen a lot more of Russia than she cared to. The last time she had gone through Russia for any length of time was her trek to some small-ass village in Siberia. That had been in the summer, as she was not the fool most everyone took her for, and she had probably slept through most of the flight, anyway.

So, officially, this was her first road trip across the barren wasteland (which was technically not either but looked so much the same for hundreds and hundreds of kilometers that she may as well call it that), especially where she was forced to see a massive chunk of it. She held her arm to her mouth and stifled a yawn, trying to ignore the development of a splitting headache that could only form by staring at essentially the same thing for hours on end. With a sigh, Katia scanned the emptiness for any sign of civilization besides the highway under her tires, to no avail.

She eased onto the shoulder of the road, trying not to bury the car in a snow bank at the same time. Shaw stirred a little and cracked an eye open to look at her just as she closed her eyes, resting her head on the steering wheel and sighing heavily. “You alright?” he asked groggily.

“Exhausted,” she replied without opening her eyes. “Can you take over for me?”

“Yeah, sure.” Shaw popped open the passenger side door, and after a moment, Katia followed his lead. They walked around the front bumper, the nipping cold refreshing each of them in its own way, and climbed back in, Shaw behind the wheel. He put the car back into gear and started down the road again. “Should be a gas station, oh…sixty clicks or so.”

“I was wondering where the signs of civilization were,” Katia remarked. Shaw smirked in response. “Russia is fucking insane.”

“I agree with that,” he said with a light laugh.

Katia shifted a little in the seat and leaned on the passenger door, tucking her feet onto the bench seat and closing her eyes, trying to relax and get some sleep. The road was somewhat rocky and the car rocked back and forth just by virtue of it being a car. She found herself wondering how Ian and Sonya could sleep before remembering how tired they were. Anyone could sleep under the proper conditions. Fatigue seeped into her bones and muscles, and she almost nodded off herself.

The car stopped at an isolated gas station with only a few rundown pumps, and Katia started a little and groggily opened her eyes, realizing she had dozed off completely. It wasn’t nearly enough sleep, but it was a start. She shifted and popped open the passenger side door while Shaw filled up. She staggered just slightly and stretched, balancing on the balls of her feet for a moment before sighing satisfactorily and relaxing on the faded, crumbling asphalt under the ice.

Immediately she became aware of some change in her environment, she wasn’t immediately aware what exactly it was. Images flashed in her mind of black-clad soldiers she would come into conflict with. They were close, then, but she couldn’t…there it was. A car appeared on the road, a big armored van that must have turned off of a dirt road somewhere or been hiding and waiting for them. The van drove toward them at a reasonable speed, and Shaw looked up then. “Who’re they?” he asked.

“Get in the car,” Katia ordered. Shaw looked at her, and she looked at him, a hard look tinged slightly with desperation. He nodded and ducked into their car, hiding just out of sight under the steering column. Katia stepped carefully behind a gas pump and just out of sight of the van, pretending she was perhaps using the restroom in case she had been seen.

The van pulled up next to the gas station and parked on the shoulder of the road opposite them. She peered out from her hiding place and watched as four black-clad soldiers exited the van and started toward them. She ducked back into the shadows again, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, listening to them creep around the car. Katia stepped out of her hiding place when she was certain they wouldn’t see her, and crept silently up to the one closest to her. She reached out and silently lifted the soldier’s back-up pistol, tucked near the small of his back. He didn’t seem to notice, which meant she had done that particularly well. She quietly, surreptitiously scanned the rest of the men, waiting cautiously for something to happen before they engaged on their mission.

She struck the man in front of her in the helmet, sending him against the van before shooting him in the back, right through the heart. She turned and pumped two bullets into the next immediate man, and he dropped to the ground. By now the other two had taken notice and abandoned whatever they were doing to deal with the new threat. Also by now Katia could hear stirring inside the van. She had woken Ian and Sonya with the gunshots, and she glimpsed Shaw shooting her a concerned look. The other two men were racing around the car to catch her. Katia took steps back until her back touched lightly against the old gas pump nozzles. Two on one, she noted. _Well, I like those odds better than four on one and two sleeping potential victims._ She raised her gun and fired first at one, striking him in the leg, and then at the other, piercing the diaphragm with the round. The men nearly dropped, and by then Shaw was scrambling in the van, grabbing a gun from the back seat and letting himself out of the van. By then, Katia had pumped two bullets into the man on her left and turned to the one on her right. She fired once, piercing right through the helmet and watching him drop before lowering her weapon.

Shaw looked at her. “You alright?” he asked. She nodded a little, barely looking at him. She took a few deep breaths.

“We need to go,” she replied, rasping a little. Shaw nodded in response, and Katia glanced at the armored van. “C’mon,” she said, and she started to walk toward it. Shaw did a double take as he followed her with his gaze across the street to the van. He nodded to Ian and Sonya and then slipped out through the driver’s side door. Sonya and Ian followed through the back doors of the van, crossing the street briskly. Ian looked over his shoulder toward the van and the corpses, scanning the highway for any sign of their compatriots.

Katia climbed into the driver’s seat, looking a little like a contradiction as she pulled her slight frame into place and adjusted the seat. Her eyes scanned the dash and the seat next to her as Shaw took the passenger’s seat next to her. Something caught her eye, and she picked it up. “Someone from Virginia forgot their license in the car,” she remarked, turning it slightly and studying it. “Can you do me a favor and check the glove box?”

Shaw popped open the compartment in front of him. “Got…a gun, registration papers, owner’s manual, and this.” He pulled out a thin folder and handed it to Katia. “Looks like a mission record.”

Katia hummed, setting down the license and taking the file, opening it on the steering wheel. Immediately the logo for Kryton Technologies, the name in crisp type against a backdrop of some kind of abstract, science fiction-esque design, popped out to her. “That’s odd,” she said softly, and then she turned to Shaw. “Can I borrow your phone?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, fishing it out of his pocket and handing it to her. She took it and swiped the screen, pulling up the keypad. Easily she dialed 47’s number and held the phone to her ear.


	47. 2016: Locked In An Elevator

47 sighed, pressing the ‘end’ button on his phone and leaning forward a little. Katia had just finished explaining what had happened in Russia, and for a moment he kicked himself. Of course Tomlin wouldn’t go himself. He wouldn’t take the risk of associating himself with Verax while Verax was still compromised. He’d called in a favor, because of course he would. He sighed a little and stood, walking to where his briefcase rested on the table and picking it up.

He walked out of his hotel room, hanging a “do not disturb” sign on the door, and made his way to the elevator, watching the occasional staff member or other guest who looked at him. He pressed a button and waited patiently for the elevator, his mind already three steps into his plan to get to Katia before anyone from Verax or Kryton Technologies did. He knew he shouldn’t have let her go to Russia on her own. He stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for the lobby, and fished out his phone, accessing the hotel’s wifi network and running a basic search on Kryton Tech offices in Russia. He copied the link and sent it to Katia, and then he pocketed his phone.

The elevator stopped on the thirtieth floor, and a caterer stepped in. The woman sighed heavily, working out her shoulders and exhaling. “I tell you what, buddy,” she said, looking at 47. “Nothing like a trashed rock star to really throw a monkey wrench in your whole night.”

“Did you have plans?” 47 asked.

“Oh, you know, goin’ out, meet a guy, get really drunk…” He noted that she didn’t look at him. She kept her gaze fixed markedly on the gold-plated doors. He watched her for a moment, memorizing her just in case, before looking ahead. Suddenly the woman reached forward, pressing a button to stop the elevator. 47 turned to her, grabbing her arm before she could reach for any weapon, and pinned her against the wall. She froze a little, staring up at him.

“You’re not really a caterer, are you,” 47 said calmly.

The woman shook her head, and as 47 got a good look at her, he realized it was Diana. Carefully he let her go, and she straightened out her outfit and hair. She did a good job making herself look older and slightly more gaunt than she really was. “They want me to bring you back in,” she said.

“Why?”

“On paper, they don’t want you going rogue and attempting to destroy the organization. Everyone knows you could if you set your mind to it.”

“So why are you telling me this?”

Diana took a deep breath. “I want to help you, but I can’t do that very well with them breathing down my neck. I have to obey orders. If I don’t…” She left it hanging in the air between them, and 47 could easily guess what she meant. “I sent a team to keep track of you, but I can assure you they won’t do you, or your sister, harm.”

“I’m not worried about your team,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

Diana nodded, exhaling as if to say, “Alright, then.” He watched her look up at him, somewhat out of the corner of her eye. “You can’t run forever, you know,” she said. “One day you will have to come back in.”

“No, I won’t.” She looked at him for a few more moments and then faced forward again. 47 followed her lead and looked at the doors. For a moment he wanted to mention that Katia was currently elsewhere, doing something else, but he held his tongue. Diana and her team could figure it out on their own, and he intended to help them as little as possible.

Diana leaned forward, pressing the button to allow the elevator to resume its descent. “I think they’re wrong,” she said after a moment.

“Oh?”

“About the threat you pose.”

“Then you trust me blindly.” She looked at him, and after a moment he glanced back before looking at the doors again.

Diana looked at the doors again. “I know that you’ve only done all this to protect your sister.”

“That’s not entirely true,” 47 said, looking down at her from the corner of his eye, his eyebrow lifting a little. The elevator stopped, and the doors opened to the lobby. Diana stepped out first, heading toward the restaurant, a couple of guests filed on, one on the phone to a business partner or attorney. To 47 it sounded like a contentious exchange. He stepped out just before the doors closed and moved toward a different exit entirely.


	48. 2016: Hacked

Riley frowned at the files, part of him wishing Katia was here to translate all this Russian with some sense of accuracy and authenticity. He chose one at random and ran it through a translation program as the next best thing. The program at least confirmed that this file was about her target, Vladimir Ivanenko. There was a lot of material here, however, so he couldn’t send it to Katia via Ian’s phone. He switched to his web browser and entered an address he knew by heart.

The web address was for a private file-hosting platform, a secure variety he first heard of on a Hackers United forum and which he used to store material he couldn’t use for his book and didn’t want on his hard drive for very long. He set up a new cache for himself, setting a random password and making note of it on a small notepad. He returned to the terminal where the files were still being processed, and entered a command stipulating that, once they were finished, they would be uploaded to his new cache and then wiped from his hard drive as if they had never been there.

He picked up his phone and called Ian back. It rang several times before he heard a groggy Ian say, “Hello?”

“It’s me,” Riley replied. “I got the files. I think.”

“You think?”

“I can’t read Russian. I did a translation on one of the files so I think I’m in the right spot, but Katia will know for sure if this is what she’s looking for.”

“Right, then.”

“Do you know who this guy even is? Sounds like a generic Russian spy to me.”

“All I know is he has connections to Katia’s mother, a former CIA agent. I think it’s something worth looking into.”

“Well, we already know that she was trying to track him down when he met Dr. Litvenko, so there’s that tie. You think there’s something else?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well if it’s there, she can find it.” His translation software was pretty decent, but he didn’t trust it completely. “In about five I’m going to send you a link to an Eris platform cache, and the password to get in. It’ll have everything she ever wanted to know about this Ivanenko guy. I’m ninety percent sure.”

“Sounds good. I’ll make sure it gets to her.”

“Thanks.” Ian hung up, and Riley sighed, spinning a little to face his laptop and set his phone down. His terminal showed that the files had finished copying to his hard drive and then to the Eris cache. His prompt had been returned to him, so this meant the files were nowhere to be found on his machine. He picked up his phone again and sent Ian a message containing the link and a complicated password for the cache, before logging off of his laptop and shutting it down for the night. Maybe he’d get some sleep before the Russians figured out they’d been hacked and come down to arrest him.

***

Ivanenko, flanked by two soldiers, walked into the Kremlin. Everyone within earshot was mumbling and whispering, asking questions in hushed tones. A uniformed gentleman was waiting for Ivanenko, standing at attention until he approached. “We’re glad you’re here,” the man said. “We have the two men on duty in custody for questioning about what happened,” he continued as he fell into step beside Ivanenko and they walked down a corridor.

“What did happen?” Ivanenko asked.

“We’ve been hacked.”

“I heard that, already. What was stolen?”

“Nothing, technically speaking. But they focused on your files.”

“I told you not to digitize them.”

“I’m sorry, sir. It came from the Premier himself.”

Ivanenko nodded; even he had to accept that. “Who is the hacker?”

“We’re working on it. We’re talking about an expert, they left little trace.”

“But only came for me?”

“Do you have any enemies?” the soldier asked him, lifting an eyebrow and curling his lips into a half smile. Ivanenko refused to answer. They walked into a separate room, where the two young men sat side-by-side, shoulders hunched, hands tucked between thighs, looking up at him sheepishly.

Ivanenko heaved himself into a chair opposite them, and his companion leaned on the other chair, his hands curled around the ears of the chair. “So,” Ivanenko said to the young men. “What happened?”

“We…we don’t know,” the one to his right said. “We were havin’ a few and next thing we know someone was pokin’ around.”

“A few?”

“Well, we got through half the bottle before we noticed something amiss,” said his companion. “But it didn’t look like anyone was stealing anything.”

“Someone was copying files. That is a theft.” The two boys fell silent. “What did they want?”

“We…we don’t know. We think it was files on…on you.”

Ivanenko stood again and approached the door, and the uniformed man followed. “What are you going to do?”

“Send them home, let them dry up, and move them to another shift. In the meantime, have someone look into deSilva.”

“She’s deceased, sir.”

“I know,” he said, looking at the man and shrugging a little. “Doesn’t mean she doesn’t have friends.”


	49. 2016: On The Side Of The Road

Katia frowned, staring at the screen of Ian’s phone and waiting for the shoddy Internet signal to go through. “May I see that?” Ian asked, holding out his hand. His tone was tinged with annoyance, so Katia surrendered the device. Ian tapped a few buttons and handed the device back to Katia, who thanked him somewhat meekly. She smirked a little when she saw what she had done. He had a data plan.

“Well if I knew that was the route you wanted me to take I’d have felt better about wasting your money,” Katia quipped back, smirking a little to lessen the blow.

“It’s not a waste.” Katia looked at him, trying to determine if he was being serious or not. Ian regarded her in response, his arms across his chest. “May I ask, this Ivanenko character, why are you interested in him?”

Katia glanced back at the screen for the change of subject, relieved that she could start scanning through documents. “My mother was pursuing him before she met my father,” she said. “I read the file you got on her, along with all your other notes about this treasure.”

“You think this is important?”

“Everything is important. Just like how everything you do has a reason. If there are coincidences, I have yet to meet one.”

Ian hummed a little. “What do you hope to find?”

“I don’t know yet. Something useful. Something…about my mom.”

“Oh. I see.”

Katia returned her attention to the screen, scanning the files, a huge collection of personal data, investigation records, right down to the transcripts of interrogations he had conducted, even a few that were administered to him. It seemed the Soviets kept track of everything from his mental status to when he took a shit. “I think spy agencies are more alike than they want to admit,” she admitted.

“What, did he have a bathroom schedule?” Ian quipped.

“Damn near.”

Ian smirked a little. Katia paused in her scroll. “What is it?”

“I think I found it,” she said. The page itself detailed, in a single brief paragraph, that the CIA was running a counter-operation on him, using an operative he did not yet know the identity of, but which Katia was sure was her mother. There wasn’t much there, but he was given an order to track down this operative and “strike back.” Katia swallowed thickly, instantly flashing back to the car in the snow and the bullet that pierced her mother’s head, in one way and out the other, shattering the rear windshield. The little boy, 47, watching her, not sure what to do and knowing it was too late, watching her drive away, looking at the guards as they approached and then trying to struggle against them. He just wanted to help her.

The phone slipped out of her hand, and Ian dove for it. It hit the snow, and he snatched it up and dusted it off. Her hand remained frozen as if she were still holding it. “Katia?” he asked, waving his hand in front of her face. “Katia?” Katia didn’t respond.

“What’s goin’ on?” Shaw asked, and Ian turned to face him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Can you read this?”

Shaw took the phone and read over the document on the screen. “It says there was someone from the CIA sent after Ivanenko, and he was sent to take care of it,” Shaw said. “That’s gotta be about Katia’s mum.” He handed the phone back to Ian, and Katia snapped out of her stupor and looked at them.

“Hm? What happened?” she asked.

“You zoned out,” Ian replied. “Are you alright?”

“I…” She nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Ian and Shaw regarded her. “It was your mum, wasn’t it,” Ian said softly.

“Yeah,” she replied, and she threaded between them toward the van. On the way, she reached for her own phone.

“Why do you need my phone, then?” Ian asked.

“This one’s only authorized for calling a similar burner phone belonging to my brother,” Katia replied, pressing a button and holding the phone to her ear, waiting for him to answer. Ian and Shaw looked at each other, but neither could manage much of anything by way of response. Assuming actual technical impossibility, they looked away.

***

“Hello?” 47 asked, answering the phone relatively quickly.

“B-bruv…it’s me…” Katia replied.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. We’re on the road to Sosnovka. It’s just as fucking boring as you would expect.”

“What happened?”

“It was him.” He noted how choked her voice sounded.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m…I’m working on it.”

“And Martin?”

“Like I said, on the road. What about Tomlin? I got your message.”

“I should’ve known he wouldn’t go personally.” 47 swallowed. “Keep an eye out for them. He’ll send another team, and another one until you’re dead.”

“OK.”

47 nodded slightly and hung up. He wanted to tell her to stay safe, though she’d know how to do that already. He wanted to ask her again if Martin was a man she wanted to win, though by now she was already committed to the rescue mission, and even though she was, he doubted she would be certain. She seemed to waver on the subject, even once she had made a clear commitment. Instead, he did none of these things, reminding himself that he needed to trust her.

47 stood and moved to the door of the small, darkened apartment that served as his safe house. The task force team was parked outside in a series of black four-door sedans, and he knew they would follow him if he tried to leave under his own power. They had done it before. He walked over to one of the sedans and knocked on the door, recognizing the man behind the wheel as Agent Bolton, a man he had seen a few times in passing but never actually spoken to. Bolton rolled down his window and looked up at him. “I need a ride to Langley,” 47 said.


	50. 2007: A Simple Operation

Jackie glanced around the hedges and the nodded to Phil behind her. Together they crept up to the back door of an elaborate D.C. mansion belonging to, on paper, a senator but housing the man in charge of Ensign. Phil tried the back door gently and nodded when he felt it give. Jackie nodded in response and followed him in through the back door. Her hand went to her earpiece. “We’re in,” she whispered to Riley.

“Fantastic. The morphine just kicked in,” Riley replied. Jackie snickered a little and switched on a flashlight. She and Phil navigated the interior of the mansion carefully so as not to bump into anything.

“So what does this token look like?”

“Well, it’ll have a company logo on it, and be pretty small, almost like a USB drive.”

“But it’s not designed to hold anything.”

“Exactly. Now he’ll probably keep it in his office, which is…upstairs, by the bathroom.”

“For easy access?” she quipped. He chuckled a bit, and she smiled. At least he liked her jokes, and her company. She appreciated that much, at least. Maybe this could work out after all.

She turned to Phil and tapped him on the elbow, nodding to the stairwell. He nodded back and moved toward it, easing his way up slowly in case anything creaked. Jackie followed him, replaying Riley’s description again in her mind. “OK, at the top of the stairs, make a left.”

“Got it,” she whispered.

Phil turned, and this time Jackie took over the lead, checking each door along the way before finding the bathroom and the office. “OK, we’re here,” she said, moving to the cluttered desk. Besides a still open laptop with a shut-off screen, there were roughly a hundred papers, all of them top secret. Jackie turned to Phil. “Take care of the paperwork,” she said to him. If anything, it would be an incredibly valuable insurance policy. She turned to the computer, scanning it with the flashlight in case their target was really so stupid as to leave anything still plugged in. Besides the power cord and a random USB drive, there was nothing. She rummaged through nearby papers and then turned to the drawers. Maybe he wasn’t that stupid, after all. 

There was a drawer full of assorted loose items that were all relatively the same size or smaller, and she rifled through it. Her fingers brushed against a small rectangular piece of plastic and metal. She lifted it and focused her flashlight on it. “Got it,” she said.

“Awesome,” Riley replied over the intercom.

“Do you need his password, too?”

“Oh don’t worry, I’ve got that.”

“A’ight.” Jackie nodded to Phil, who finished up with the papers in the office and turned to the door. Jackie followed him, glancing around the room. The cops would get a call about this in the morning at the very latest. She followed close behind him. Jackie glanced around from her place on the landing while Phil headed downward. She followed when she was sure it was clear.

***

Riley hummed as he leaned back in the chair, one hand in the air as he watched the screen. He didn’t get a chance to do this very often, but the very thought of owning an independent intelligence agency, not connected to any government, gave him such a rush. It was almost better than morphine.

He sat in the hotel room, waiting for Jackie and Phil to get back with the token so he could crack open the walnut and see what was inside. It reminded him of Christmas, but the kind he saw in movies and not really anything connected to real life. He remembered being lucky if he received socks or underwear, or anything at all. “And yet they could get my brother a car,” he said to himself in his usual sardonic way.

With a feeling of imminent triumph, he pulled himself to his feet and limped into the hotel’s kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, and he settled back in front of the computer. A few minutes later, Jackie and Phil let themselves into the room, and she closed the door behind them. He looked at them and honestly smiled, for what felt like the first time in forever. Jackie chuckled a little, grinning like a schoolgirl. She looked adorable like this, and reminded him of seeing her for the first time, how excited she was over meeting her new favorite author and treasure hunter. She held out the token, dropping it into his waiting palm.

Riley turned to his laptop and plugged the token in. It lit up briefly, and he logged into the server, entering the password he had recovered on his own and touching the token for a moment. He leaned back in the chair, his elbows on the armrests and his hands loosely clapped in front of him. He chewed his lip a little as he watched the server’s “home screen” load in his terminal.

“What’re we looking for?” Phil asked, taking a seat on the sofa and leaning forward, his hands in front of him.

“Anything,” Riley replied, leaning back over the screen and typing again. “Your cousin said they’re tracking some guy named Michel, but that’s probably a cover for something else, so I guess that’s where we start.” Phil and Jackie looked at each other and shrugged.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Jackie said to him. “Food, coffee. Or Mountain Dew if that’s your preference.”

“Sounds good,” Riley replied.


	51. 2016: Paul In The Company Of The Hitman

Paul looked in the mirror at 47, sitting in the back seat and working on his phone. “Uh, how ‘bout the Bears?” he asked. 47 did not respond. “No? You a football man, then?”

“Please stop,” 47 replied.

“OK, man. Just tryin’ to make conversation.” 47 returned his attention to his phone, and Paul tried not to seem tremendously awkward about the whole situation. It wasn’t every day he got to sit in the same damned car as the legendary _Hitman_. Tracking the guy was one thing, but _this?!_ “Y’know, I was kinda hopin’ you’d be more…personable.”

“Personable?” 47 asked.

“Yeah, you know…like…talking to people and shit.”

“Talking…to people…” he said slowly, regarding Paul warily. That wasn’t a thing 47 generally did, for one thing. He had his reasons, and he couldn’t wrap his head around why Paul would try to get him to violate such a basic rule. This was a thing he supposed humans did, or rather humans who weren’t him, and didn’t do what he did for a living.

“Yeah.” 47, in response, looked back at his phone, though this appeared to be to mask a blush and an ever-so-slightly uncertain expression in his face more than anything else. “Hey, man,” Paul said. “You don’t have to talk, I get it, but it’s a long drive to Langley, that I’m spending with a goddamned _legend_ no less, and—”

47 looked up. “You can only be a legend after you’re dead, Agent Bolton,” he said in his usual soft-spoken voice.

“Oh. Well, I stand corrected. What are you, then, if I may ask? I mean, if you’re not a legend.”

“I just do my job.”

“Well, you’re the best at it. Nobody at the office can shut up about it.”

“Then I need to do better.”

Paul chuckled. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Then you don’t know me very well.”

“So how’s your sister doing? She is your sister, right?”

47 looked at him again. “Don’t talk about my sister.” Paul looked pointedly out the windshield, away from him, and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to laugh it off and failing miserably. 47 looked at the phone again, and he heard Paul take a deep breath, glad that 47 seemed to say nothing more about the brief moment he transgressed. He didn’t know what 47 did with transgressions, but he doubted he just…forgot about them. Best to play it safe, he decided.

“Alright,” Paul said slowly. “Well, just so you know, we’re supposed to keep track of her, too. We thought you’d, you know, be together.”

“I hope for your sake you mean proximity.”

“That’s what I hope I mean, too. That’s how I take it, at least. We’re figurin’ that after Singapore you two aren’t too far apart from each other a lot of the time.”

“That’s true.”

“If ya don’t mind my asking…where is she?”

“Not here.”

Paul glanced at 47 in the rearview mirror and then nodded, accepting that 47 wasn’t going to tell him where Katia was. That was well within 47’s right, and besides which, protocol only required him to ask. If a six-foot-tall bald Hitman gave him a null-answer, he was not going to press his luck. Instead, he scanned the road. “So, what’s at Langley that you need?” he asked. 47 simply looked at him, saying nothing. “…OK,” Paul replied. 47 leaned back in the seat, taking a few moments to watch him before looking away again. Paul didn’t try to speak again.


	52. 2016: Old Spies

Katia sat cross-legged in the back of the van, still poring over the files. It was a massive digitized case file on a near-legendary Russian spymaster who ran operations everywhere from Iraq to Paris, France, as well as ran several operatives in the US and Britain, and all of their cutouts. _Busy man_ , she thought.

She found the file on a certain Sedley School in the English countryside, a front for a peculiar operation wherein, according to the file, Russian boys would be trained to be English, to eventually serve as double agents. Katia remembered her conversation with Ian about this school, about his brother and a young Russian boy who simply couldn’t handle the cruel process, the process that helped break John Howe and shaped Ian into the man he was. Katia jokingly asked herself how many London gangsters came out of hellish boarding schools.

The file continued on to his notes on John’s progress in MI6, his talent for deep cover aided by his multiple personalities, and Ivanenko’s many efforts to get intel from this particular spy. From the looks of things, as far as Katia knew, all John and his handler fed him were reams and reams of false information the man took to be true based in his belief that John Howe was really Alexei Volkov. She believed such a practice was related to the concept of a barium meal, though frankly no one could answer this question one way or another. John’s missions and the data Ivanenko received from them ran right up until 2004, which Katia presumed was the Iraq mission after which John lost all his memories and vanished into American witness protection, taking on the alias Martin Odum.

She closed that track and picked another thread to follow.

Ivanenko ran other operatives, all over Eastern Europe, up to and including someone who seemed to keep track of her father. She opened this folder and started scrolling through documents. She discovered quickly that Dr. Litvenko had become interesting to the KGB because of his high volume of scientific work, here extensively detailed compared to the notes compiled on him previously by Ben and his cohorts. Dr. Litvenko was the chief mind behind something like a hundred individual research papers, of varying degrees of importance: his seminal works involved the genetic modification of mice and other model organisms, it seemed. Katia glanced at the battery on Ian’s phone, and decided to table searching through all the scientific literature until she got back…not home, per se, but somewhere with at least a steady internet connection, where she could go through all this material at her leisure. Oddly, she imagined 47 right there with her. The bastard’s growing on me, she thought with a smirk.

Litvenko took a two-year break to work on a textbook, _Teoriya i Praktiki Biogenetiki, The Theory and Practice of Biogenetics_. Like all textbooks, it lived in infamy in the minds of college students everywhere. According to Ivanenko’s notes, however, this two-year stint never ended. Katia guessed that during this time was when he met and fell in love with Krista, and then fled to the States. That placed the book as first published in 1964. She flagged this as another topic to revisit later, and looked for something else.

Finally, after several minutes of somewhat confused searching through what felt like an endless pile of information all connected by mere virtue of the fact that it was composed about the same individual, she closed the page and leaned back, exhaling. She put the phone to sleep and handed it back to Ian, who asked, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” she replied in a raspy, tired voice.

He watched her for several moments before nodding and looking away. Katia looked at Sonya in the driver’s seat and Shaw sitting next to her. Martin would be forever changed by Sosnovka, and she wondered if Sonya or herself could really take that. She found herself once again returning to her brother’s question. While she doubted he knew much of relationships, her own history was…less than sunny. She thought she could trust John Smith, for one.

A sound ahead in the road ripped her from her musings, and she gasped and opened her eyes, sitting up straight and listening. It sounded like…not a Pinto. It was an old car but definitely Russian made. It was heading toward them, most likely from Sosnovka. She looked at the front seats, the windshield. Out on the snow and ice covered road someone was approaching them. Sonya edged to the side of the room, moving as close as she dared to the shoulder without steering into a ditch or a snow bank, and the car approached them. Katia leaned over the back of the seat, staring intently at the driver’s side position. “Stop the car,” she said. Sonya looked at her, and then at the car. She agreed, sliding the van into a stop on the side of the road. The car passed them, but it parked some twenty feet behind them.

Katia heard a car door open and close behind them, and she turned to Ian. He shrugged and opened the van door, stepping into the brisk Russian day. Katia followed, and Shaw and Sonya were right behind her. All four of them stared at the man, Martin but Katia immediately noted that he carried himself differently. He walked over to Ian and pulled him into a hug. “John?” Ian asked.

“In the flesh,” John replied.

_I knew you’d be different,_ Katia thought, _but I didn’t know you’d be_ that _different._ John’s eyes wandered over to Katia, and he grinned. “Well,” he said, letting Ian go. “You must be Katia? You left quite an impression on one of my friends.”

“I’m sorry…who are you, exactly?” Katia asked.

He laughed. “Oh you know me. I’m the guy they’ve been talking about all this time. The guy everyone’s been wanting to find.” He beamed, his hands on his hips. “And here I am!”

“Welcome back,” Ian said, beaming at his brother. “Good to see you again.”

John smiled back, clapping his shoulder. “Good to be back.” He looked at the group. “So what are all of you doing all this way out in the middle of Russia?”

“Looking for you,” Sonya said, stepping forward. Her arms were folded across her chest, and her expression shifted through confusion as she spoke. “Some Russian fucker named Ivanenko takes you and sticks you in a prison in one of the _coldest places in Russia_ , and fucking _leaves_ you there, and you think we’re not going to go looking for you?!”

“Well, Martin, maybe,” John said nonchalantly, and he shrugged.

“Where the hell is he?” Sonya demanded. Katia took a step back, and Shaw looked at her and nodded as if to say he agreed. “Where the _hell_ is Martin Odum?”

“Sleeping it off.”

Sonya slapped him, and John staggered back a little, one hand on his face and his eyes on the snow but not seeing much of anything. Ian looked at her, then at John again. “Wh-what the…You son of a…” Ian shoved him. Katia started and drew back.

“Whoa, what the fuck?” John demanded, his hands at his sides in a half-shrug.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re marching your arse all the way back from fucking Sosnovka in a beat-up old as shit Russian Pinto because you don’t have enough goddamned faith in us to come fucking rescue you? You couldn’t be arsed to stay somewhere warm for once? Somewhere where someone could fucking find you, instead of getting lost in the middle of god-forsaken _Russia_?!”

John stared at him, looking supremely offended. Ian regarded him for several moments before snapping, “Get in the fucking van,” and gesturing aggressively to the armored vehicle. John looked at it, giving it an incredulous smirk, as if to say, “ _Me_ , in _that_?” and he walked over to the van without another word, slicing between Katia and Shaw. Ian followed close behind him.

“What just happened?” Sonya asked Katia, who looked at Shaw, who shrugged.


	53. 2007: First Date

Jackie watched Riley in silence. Phil had long since gone to sleep, and the only light in the room was a lamp near the wall behind her and a lamp on the bed where Riley’s laptop sat. He leaned toward the wall, his head resting heavily on one hand while the fingers of the other drummed on the table. She sighed a little, and he looked at her. “You OK?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s just taking a while,” he replied.

“I meant, like…”

“Oh. Well…” He pulled himself to his feet and limped slowly toward the sofa, sinking into the seat next to her with a big, heavy sigh. “That’s about how I feel,” he said, giving her a mildly pointed look. He just seemed tired.

“You should maybe rest, then. Take a break.”

Riley smirked at her. “Hence, I’m over here,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the suite’s pseudo-living room. She let herself smile a bit, though whether it was her tiredness or her lingering uncertainties or something else she didn’t know about, it felt somewhat fake to her.

“So…is this like, our first date?” she asked, straightening her back a little before looking at him again.

“It can be if there’s pizza,” Riley quipped, and Jackie snorted a little and laughed. Riley chuckled alongside her.

“Sure, what kind?” Already she had her phone out, ready to go. Riley noted with a slight smile and raised eyebrows that she was serious about this.

***

Forty-five minutes later, Jackie was watching him tear through his second slice of pizza. She was still moseying through her first, and was naturally surprised he could be so hungry. “How long do you generally go without food?” she asked.

“Oh…” he said, then he swallowed. “Longest I’ve gone was three days. I’ve done that maybe a few too many times.” He took another bite, as if pausing to reorder his thoughts. “Usually it’s sixteen hours, though. Breakfast, workday, dinner, that sort of thing.”

“OK.”

“Why?”

“Just…curious.”

“OK.” He turned to a bottle of pop next to his plate and took a sip. “What about you? Any quirks about food that I need to know about?”

Jackie paused, for a moment wondering if she should tell him, but she knew better than to lie about it. “I sometimes have to force myself to eat three meals a day, and I keep a stash of canned goods and non-perishables in my closet.”

Riley nodded. “OK,” he said, as if it made sense. She guessed that it probably did.

“You win,” she said after a long moment. “I at least make sure I have food.” Riley smiled at her around another bite of pizza.

“Y’know…growing up around Ian…do you have like a killer taste in wine or anything?” he asked.

“I know a couple of the expensive things, and that’s about it,” she replied. After a pause to sip some water, she continued, “He taught me how to shoot, and Shaw taught me how to fight, and they both showed me what love looks like.”

“I thought Ian didn’t know how to shoot.”

“He does. He just doesn’t like to.” She let herself smile a bit, and she sighed. “He told me once. He said it was on one of those jobs early on, in the late seventies. It was just he and Shaw, and they were trying to keep the thing alive. He took a pistol and tried to cover for their escape, and he got shot.” She stretched a little and gestured to a spot on her side, just above her hip. “He has a scar, right here. Shaw was losing his mind trying to keep him from bleeding out. Ian saw that and…decided he didn’t want to put Shaw through that again.”

Riley nodded, chewing thoughtfully as he watched her. “That’s…a lot,” he said after he swallowed.

“He’s intense,” she said, nodding in agreement and laughing a little. “If you really want the inside scoop on Ian’s taste about anything, though, ask about his car collection. The man does not downgrade when it comes to those.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“And almost everything is custom-made, too.” She swallowed some water. “Three Lambos, a Porsche, a couple random, weird-looking Rolls Royces, and some others so clusterfucked I had to be told what they are. Apparently one of them is some kind of Mercedes.”

Riley smirked. “Sounds like Ian,” he said, and he took a sip from his pop bottle. “Your turn.”

Jackie smiled and shrugged lightly. “Alright. Where’d you learn to be so good at computers?”

“Self-taught,” Riley replied. “I started when I was about twelve. Broke into a library to use one of their computers, and I started playing around on the terminal. I was up all night but I learned everything you’d need to know to get a head start. Then, I looked up all the rest…” He shrugged and took another sip. “Within a year I was cleaning the clocks of old rich people who have too much money, and that was how I paid for college. In my twenties I got a job at Intel, trying to go legit, or that was what I said. Then Ben happened.”

“Changed your whole life.”

“Mmhmm.” Riley licked his upper lip and sighed a little, staring at the pizza box on the coffee table in front of him.

“So I’m not the only one,” she said lightly. “Though granted as far as you’ve said you never tried to kill anyone.”

He shook his head. “No,” he said adamantly.

“Alright, alright, I believe you,” she said, smiling and leaning back, her hands up. He gave her a mock sarcastic, “Oh you” smile, and she chuckled and leaned forward again, taking a bite of pizza.

“OK, um…” He thought a moment, smiling to himself about all the possibilities, when he heard his computer beep. They both looked over, and he pulled himself to his feet and limped over. He sank into the chair and sighed, his hand over his face while he scanned the terminal window and then entered another command.

Jackie looked over her shoulder at him. He slipped so easily back into the zone, she noted with a small smile, and she shifted her position and leaned on the back of the chair, still watching him. “You look like you’re not half-dead tonight,” she said.

“Well I still get to do something I’m good at,” he replied. “And my first official date with you isn’t so bad.”

She smiled. “Thanks for that.”

“Yeah, no problem.”


	54. 2016: Long Hours Of Questions

Ian and John sat at diagonal spots in the rectangle of the back of the van, which Katia noted with a strong sense of discomfort. She caught John looking at her several times, and looked away as quickly as possible. Sonya looked at her, biting her lip or frowning or giving her concerned glances. Katia wondered about the camaraderie between women that she had witnessed among people who were not her. Being a part of it now felt completely foreign to her; she couldn’t help but bite her lip and look at her shoes.

Ian looked at her, and she thanked God that they were closer to each other than anyone was to John, a body snatcher of sorts, except it was his body. “You alright?” he asked her softly.

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Adjusting?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “Alright. That’s fine.” She gave him a small half-smile, and he smiled and nodded back. “Disappointed that you couldn’t carve up a Russian prison?” he asked lightly. She merely gave him a look, but she was smiling a little. Part of her admitted it would’ve been fun.

“Sounds a bit dangerous,” she merely replied.

“Of course,” Ian replied with a wry, knowing smile. “That’s what we live for, isn’t it?”

Katia looked up, dropping her mask at once. “Is that what we live for?”

“Is it what you live for?”

“I…” Katia caught herself. Did she live for something? If so, what was it? Maybe she hadn’t, and all this time had been spent surviving. She used to devote herself to finding her father, and now that was done and long gone and she…she realized she was somewhat lost. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “Not anymore.”

Ian’s smirk fell. “Oh,” he said softly. Katia nodded, and to his credit Ian said nothing more on the matter. Katia pursed her lips and fell into grateful silence.

***

Ben had been staring at old pictures of the asylum in West Virginia for almost twenty-four hours, or what certainly felt that long. When 47 had said it was important, Ben couldn’t quite get it out of his head. Besides the fact that 47 had more than enough connection to whatever was at the end of this and the potentially life threatening prospects of ignoring the suggestions of a six-foot-two bald guy who, while Ben’s size almost exactly, could probably kick his ass five times over.

Ben sipped from his glass of water and forced himself to skim through yet another article on the place. There were rumors that the lower levels and the basements had been converted to a lab and living quarters, though anyone who wanted to investigate usually turned up dead. Ben frowned and leaned forward, moving to the obituaries of deceased reporters and photographers who had gotten too close. There was an invented hysteria about sleeper agents from Russia, which helped to cover up the heavy guards at the lab, but it didn’t erase all doubts by any means, especially not from witnesses and close friends and family. Ben wondered when he stopped treasure hunting and started investigating murders.

He rubbed his lips and returned to the articles about the asylum, including allegations that it was haunted. Whether that helped or harmed the cause he couldn’t quite be sure. Petr Kozlov had not only the project at the asylum, but was mildly involved in the community, supporting a local PTA and contributing to a few charities here and there.

“Why don’t you visit the place?” Patrick asked. Ben started a little and looked up, giving his father a questioning hum. “See it for yourself.”

“Oh. I’m waiting for Katia to get back from Russia,” Ben explained, looking back at his notes.

“What’s she doing in Russia?”

“Looking for Ian’s brother.”

“All by herself?”

“No.”

“OK, good.”

“When are they gonna be back?”

“Oh, a few more days. Apparently it takes years to drive across Russia, let alone actually get anywhere.” Patrick smirked a little. “So in the mean time I’m here, trying to get as good an idea as I can of what’s going on here.”

“You get Riley’s opinion?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I will, but if he pokes around too much he’ll get flagged by the FBI, the CIA, and God knows who else.”

Patrick nodded. “That would be a problem.”

“How’s Mom?” Ben asked after a pause, to change the subject.

“How do you think?”


	55. 2016: Off The Books

Paul flashed his ICA ID at the gate to Langley, and the guard studied him and the bald man in the back seat, who gave him an ice-cold stare in response. The guard nodded and waved them through, alerting his superiors to the arrival of a “top ICA asset”. 47 didn’t bother to gather much else. Paul followed the signs and directions from other guards and parked accordingly, and 47 stepped out of the car. He scanned the soldiers standing guard and the civilians, one of whom holding a paper over his head as he dashed toward an entry in a long coat and carrying a briefcase. 47 scrutinized his strange behavior for several moments before following Paul to another entrance. The guard stood at attention, which 47 thought was a little unnecessary, but he wasn’t going to say anything to confuse the poor guy. He was, after all, fresh out of the academy, by the look of him.

“What is your business here?” the guard asked Paul.

“I’m looking for a Mr. Andrew Cox,” 47 replied. Paul couldn’t have answered that question believably if he had tried. The guard looked at him, and must have guessed who he was, as his eyes widened and he was doing everything in his power to mask his fear. “Is he on campus?”

“N-no, sir,” the guard replied, shaking his head.

47 nodded to him and thanked him, and he turned back to the car. Paul did a double take. “Hey, where are you going?” he asked, marching after him. He caught up to 47 and demanded the same thing again in hushed tones. 47 drew back.

He glanced at the nervous guard whose eyes were glued to the back of his head. He may have been the most eagle-eyed graduate there ever was, but at this distance the barcode would be hard to make out. 47 was grateful for the fact. “Do you remember the man earlier, acting like it was raining when it wasn’t?”

Paul looked around, not sure what this guy was even talking about. The top hitman the ICA had to offer was a crazy man, but maybe that was the only way to rise to the top in a company like the ICA. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Suspicious behavior, Agent Bolton. If you want to go anywhere in this company you need to be observant.”

“OK. So what about him?”

47 glanced at the guard, who was being approached by another visitor and welcomed the opportunity to avert his attention. “Come with me,” 47 said to Paul, and he started toward the exit the other man had been headed to earlier. This door was guarded by an older man who looked like he was counting down the seconds until quitting time. 47 excused himself and asked after a strangely behaving, possibly panicked gentleman that he’d seen passing through a few minutes before. The guard merely nodded and gestured with his thumb. “Just headed up to his office,” he said.

“Thank you.”

For good measure, Paul flashed his ID as they passed. The guard nodded without even giving it a good look. He knew enough to know that anyone with the ICA was not willing to cause an international incident with them. Letting a couple of them walk in and talk briefly to an agent of theirs was more than a good idea, at least in his books. He shifted in his position a little and returned to scanning the parking lot.

47 and Paul walked almost side-by-side down a long, poorly lit metallic hallway. “How the hell did you pull that off?” Paul asked in a voice barely above a whisper. 47 didn’t answer, and Paul thought this was probably one of his moments where he didn’t want to talk at all. He felt like he had broken about six or seven federal laws just now, so he couldn’t blame the guy. He was still damned impressed, however.

They stopped in front of an elevator, and Paul realized this must’ve been what 47 was doing on his phone: getting the lay of the land and planning ahead. Was he standing next to a person or some kind of mildly robotic powerhouse? The elevator opened, and they stepped inside. Paul wanted to speak, but even he could guess there was a camera or two in the elevator, watching and recording their every move.

“Relax,” 47 said. “You’re keeping tabs on me, aren’t you?”

Paul sighed. “Good point. I still feel like we just broke in, though.”

“Then you should break in to places more often. That feeling goes away.”

“Provided you feel it in the first place.” 47 gave him a look, but this time Paul didn’t look away. “Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Feel it at first. Guilty? Or uneasy?”

47 looked ahead. “That was a long time ago,” he said simply.

“OK.”

The elevator stopped, and 47 stepped out ahead of Paul. “When I meet with Mr. Cox I need you to stay outside. For one this is above your pay grade to begin with.” Paul nodded, thinking that that was probably where his feeling of violating something came from. 47 stopped in the hallway and knocked on a seemingly random door, and Paul walked about twenty feet down before stopping. He was not taking his chances, that was for sure.

***

Andrew Cox looked up at the sound, and asked the man to identify himself. What he got in answer was a bald guy walking into his office in a tailored, pressed, expensive suit with a striking red tie. “And who the hell are you?” he asked.

“Call me Mr. Rieper,” the man replied.

_Odd._ “And what do you want, Mr. Rieper?”

“I need to speak to you about your former operative, Krista deSilva.”

He widened his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “I haven’t heard that name in years. Does she merit a contract?”

“No.”

“Th-then why…”

“I found her daughter.”

“Daughter?”

Rieper nodded. “With Dr. Litvenko. I’m sure you remember a famous geneticist who fled the Soviet Union.”

“Yes…I remember. We had…we had hoped he would help us with something to win the Cold War, we even secretly funded his little project in West Virginia.”

“Except he wanted nothing to do with the Cold War, and when he realized his Agents were too good at what they were designed to do, he couldn’t take it anymore, and vanished.”

Cox hummed, frowning a little. “I noticed.” He shifted a bit and laced his fingers together. “Mr. Rieper, what, may I ask, does this have to do with anything?”

“Your agent loved this doctor, and vice versa. They had a child together, about four years before your agent was shot.” Cox flinched. That was the stinger, a little factoid that never quite left him. “What do you know about this?”

Cox pursed his lips for a moment before replying, “Before she met Dr. Litvenko, she was charged with tracking down a Russian spymaster, Vladimir Ivanenko. All reports of the guy from other defectors describe him as pure evil, a sick, sadistic bastard who does everything he can to manipulate people to get what he wants. Most people on our side wanted him dead, and we sent her to find him.”

“Did she have any luck?”

“Officially?” He just shook his head. “Unofficially, she got eyes on him in the square in Kiev. He was fixated on her new boyfriend, apparently. That was shortly after we transferred her to helping the doctor get out of the Soviet Union.”

“And who was assigned to track Ivanenko after that?”

“Keller.”

“And did this…Keller…turn up anything?”

“He found one of Ivanenko’s safe houses in Ukraine and another in Russia, before he was captured. Ivanenko himself demanded the release of one of our top defectors for his freedom.”

“Has he always been that way?”

“In our experience, yes. Why?”

What followed was a bizarre tale Cox had no idea Rieper could know unless he was fairly intimately involved, or knew someone who was. Rieper may have been ICA, but that didn’t mean much of anything with regard to intel. Yet he wove a tale of memory loss, fake identities, capture, delusions, approximately three intelligence agencies, and one cover up of a death at a private school in England. Cox could do nothing but lean back and listen until Rieper finished, at which point he said, “You’re sure it’s Odum?”

“Of course.”

“Have you talked to the FBI?”

“Why? Ivanenko had him, last I heard.”

Cox sighed. “Fair point. But you’re not here to talk to me about Odum, are you?”

“No.” Rieper shook his head a little. “I’m here about Krista.”

“The mother of the girl you found.”

“Yes.”

“What, exactly, do you want?”

Rieper shrugged. “Whatever you’ve got.”

Cox shook his head. “No. I can’t surrender anything off campus. You should know that as well as anyone.”

Rieper paused for a bit before opening his mouth. “Her name is Katia Van Dees. You and everyone else knew at the time that Krista was infertile, so I ask you…how did she have a daughter?”

Cox shrugged. “Miracles happen all the time?”

“You don’t really believe that. Remember her love affair with the geneticist?” Cox’s eyes widened. This guy could _not_ be serious. The CIA and dozens of outside parties specifically stipulated that there were to be no females. The chief funders of the program wanted soldiers only. He personally ceded that it was a considerably more sexist time back then, but the funding could not be allocated elsewhere. Even in mainstream scientific projects one had to be incredibly explicit and leave almost nothing out. Getting a grant was like getting a warrant.

“He…He did that?”

“Yes,” was all Rieper had to say, and with that, he stood and moved toward the door.

“Wait!” Cox said. Rieper paused, but did not face him. “All our files end a few months before Katia’s birth. She didn’t contact anyone after that, either.”

“Did she say anything…unofficial?”

“Usual stuff. How attractive he was and how charming, attentive. Evidently the doctor was just as good with pipettes as he was in bed. Sometimes you caught her with a bunch of flowers and a balloon attached, or a box of chocolates.”

“He loved her,” Rieper said softly, turning his head ever so slightly toward Cox.

“You say that like it surprises you.”

“I’ve heard it stated, but didn’t see much proof. So yes.” He looked ahead again. “Continue.”

“She left in Sixty-Seven to join him on his project. On paper it was independently funded, but you know the truth, I’m sure. In any case, we didn’t see or hear much of her after that.”

“I see.”

“Why do you wanna know about her?”

“For Katia’s sake.”

“Wish I could be of more help?” Cox said with a light shrug.

“You’ve helped plenty, thank you.”

Rieper moved to open the door, and Cox bid him farewell, noting that the guy didn’t respond. He sighed, leaning back in the chair, and muttered, “I am so fired.”


	56. 2016: On The Phone

Paul looked up as 47 stepped out of the office and headed toward him. “Anything?” he asked as he fell in beside the agent.

“Plenty,” 47 replied, and he reached into his picket and fished out a small piece of plastic. “This is my access card. Send one of your men to slip into the ICA facility in D.C. and get the records of all financial dealings the ICA had with a Mr. Petr Kozlov.”

Paul stared at the card but dared not take it. “Are you insane?” he asked finally. 47 merely flicked the card a little, indicating that Paul should probably take it. So, he did. And he felt even more like he was going to get caught. He stared at the badge and sighed. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Paul said as he pocketed the card. 47 said nothing. “So, what’re you gonna do?”

“I’m going to go looking for Keller,” he said simply. Paul knew that was more than he probably had a right to, so he left it there and just followed 47 down the hall.

***

Katia started awake when the van stopped. People were already filing out, and she had a vague idea that she was back in civilization somewhere. A couple days of driving back from that weird mid-point in the middle of nowhere gave an indication that they were back where they had come, and when Katia staggered out of the van she found this to be true. “Good ol’ Moscow,” she said to herself as she followed the others into the lobby of a fancy hotel. Ian and Shaw approached the receptionist and asked for a decent-sized suite, just enough for a party of five to not have to look at each other and smell the same armpit sweat 24/7. 

Katia chewed her lip a little and examined the posh lobby, all rich red carpet with gold trimmed in a fleur-de-lis design over and over and over again, and dark wood paneling, perhaps mahogany. There was a small series of chandeliers that sparkled like thousands of points of ice, and off to one side she spotted an ice sculpture that seemed to be there for no apparent reason. Ian and Shaw turned toward them and gestured them over to the elevator. “Must’ve gone well,” John noted when they caught up to the other two.

Ian smirked. “My reputation has its perks. And apparently I look like some wanker named Dmitry Petrovich.”

“You don’t say.” Katia noted the in-joke-like tone of the statement but said nothing and tried to think little of it. She hung close to Shaw and Sonya in the elevator. Ian and John seemed relatively jovial together, though the scene when they first saw each other again properly was still fresh in her mind.

The elevator stopped, and the five of them filed out. Katia shifted around, looking at the hallway with its Persian carpeting, and she buried her hands deeper into her pockets to mask her twitching fingers. After several anxious moments she pulled out her phone and called 47.

“Hello?” he asked softly.

“Hey, it’s me,” she replied. “We’re back in civilization.”

“How did it go?”

“Well he certainly didn’t need us if that’s what you’re asking.”

“He found you, then.”

“Yeah.”

“How is he?”

“His real personality is back.” She hung out in the hallway while the others filed in, trying not to be rude. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

47 hummed. “What are you going to do?”

She sighed a little and shifted on her feet. “I’m working on it,” she said, more softly than usual.

“Alright.”

She swallowed thickly and changed the subject. “What are you up to?” she asked, as she turned and walked into the hotel room, closing the door behind her. Ian gave her a questioning look, so in hushed tones she said, “Sorry, it’s my brother.” Ian nodded, but John still regarded her. “Relax, we’re done talking about you.”

“You were talking about me?” John demanded, approaching her. Katia walked deeper into the room, flipping him off as she went. He lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. She wheeled around, staring him down. Then she cocked an eyebrow, as if to ask, “Do you want to talk to my brother?” and he released her, glaring at her still. She turned and walked into one of the bedrooms.

“Are you alright?” 47 asked.

“Just fine,” she replied, though already she felt uneasy. “Anyway what are you doing? Is there any good news?”

“I have two of Ivanenko’s safe houses: one in Kiev, one outside of Moscow.”

_Kiev?_ Katia asked herself. Her father had a storage unit there. Was there a connection? “Anything else?”

“Bolton’s team was dispatched to track us. I haven’t told them where you are.”

“Why?”

“Your father didn’t want you to be a part of this. Neither do I.”

Katia nodded. “O-OK,” she said, swallowing again. This time it felt like she was trying not to cry. “A-anything else?”

“Have you had a chance to look over what I sent you about Kryton Technologies?”

“Not yet. I’ve been combing Ivanenko’s case file instead.”

“How did you get that?”

“Help.”

“Why?”

“He had a previously known connection to my mother, I wanted to see if it went anywhere.”

“Did it?”

“I think he killed her.” She swallowed again, trying to correct for how choked her voice sounded.

For a long moment he said nothing. Just as Katia was reaching for something else to say, he said, “You need to worry about Kryton first. You’ll come under attack again any moment now.”

Katia nodded. “OK.” She turned around, perhaps contemplating hanging up, and jumped, dropping the phone.

John was leaning against the doorway, one hand on his hip.


	57. 2016: Cornered

“What do you think you’re doing?” John asked. Katia took a step back, realizing this was no mere run-of-the-mill asshole she was dealing with.

“Making a fucking phone call, asshole,” Katia shot back.

“After all that energy spent wanting me you think that’s an excuse to ignore me?”

“I don’t know you.”

“Sure you do,” he said with a light shrug. “Dmitry, Martin…I know all about that. You think you’re sneaky and clever, don’t you?”

Katia forced herself to breathe. If she slipped into panic mode she knew there was no hope for her. “So do you. You think you’re James Bond.”

He smirked and stepped into the room, hooking his thumbs into his jeans. “You don’t know what I think.”

“You’re certainly cocky enough it’s easy to guess.”

He scoffed. “Just who the hell do you think you are, exactly?”

_Shit, good question._ “I’d ask you the same thing.” He took another step into the room, and Katia stepped protectively over the fallen phone. Oddly, she thought of another hotel, where she faced off against an Agent and somehow won. Her brother helped her dispose of the body. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that in this case.

He took a step around her, the first round of the dance of predator and pray, circling around each other until someone makes a move. His hands moved behind his back. “Your attempts at wit aren’t very amusing. Frankly a girl like you should just keep her mouth shut.” He stepped toward her, and again Katia felt that strange, almost out-of-body feeling. She struck him in the throat, causing him to stumble back a bit and struggle for breath. He didn’t get too far before she grabbed his shoulders and bent him over, driving her knee into his ribcage once, twice, three times. She threw his body to one side and ran for the door, grabbing her phone along the way.

She had reached the main door and started fumbling with the lock when she heard John behind her, yelling some kind of obscenity or another, she couldn’t pay enough attention to discern which. She fumbled with the lock for several moments before turning around to face him again. He was doubled over and staggering, a feral expression on his face. “I’ll kill you,” he growled. “I’ll kill you.”

_For what it’s worth, I believe you,_ she thought. She tossed the phone onto the faux marble island and braced herself for another fight. Such a fight was never to come. Instead, a glimmer of movement caught her eye. Shaw appeared behind John, wielding something that looked like a gun. He pulled the trigger, but instead of blowing the guy’s head off like Katia initially expected, John’s body shook. Katia realized somewhat belatedly that tens of thousands of volts was coursing through his body. A Taser, she thought. Brilliant.

John dropped to the floor, unconscious, and Shaw stood over the body, still pointing the Taser at him. He looked at Katia. “Are you OK?” he asked.

She nodded, muttering, “Yeah.” After a moment she excused herself and grabbed her phone, letting herself out of the suite and running for one of the stairways at the end of the hall. When she stopped and checked her phone, she swore under her breath. She had never actually hung up on her brother. He’d heard the whole thing.

“Bruv, I—” she said.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yeah…fine…we’re fine.”

“What happened?”

“I…I’d rather not say.”

“Very well.”

Katia swallowed again. “I’m going to find another place to stay,” she said. “I need to think shit over.”

“Alright.”

Katia nodded, pursing her lips a little and hanging up. Checking to make sure she had everything, she started down the stairs.


	58. 2016: Sasha

It was about five-o-clock that night when Katia knocked on the door of a nondescript, somewhat shabby house on the edge of the city. The sun balanced on the horizon, and Katia had her shoulders hunched against the cold. On the side of the street she’d noticed an absurd seventies something or other with a vanity plate reading a truncated Russian equivalent of “PUSSYWHORE”. It made her smirk a little. The bastard had kept it.

Sasha answered in his sweatpants and little else, and he broke into a beaming smile. “Katia!” he said. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Katia smiled back. “Good to see you, too.”

“Here, come in!” He stepped aside, and she slipped inside, kicking her shoes off. “What’re you up to?”

“Well, I don’t have cash on me, but I was wondering if I could stay here for a couple days.”

“Yeah, sure. What happened?”

“Something came up,” she said, scanning the small house before deciding to take a seat on his bare mattress.

“OK.”

Sasha retreated to the kitchen for a few moments before returning with a bottle of vodka and two glasses, and he pulled a chair up so he faced her. “So, what’s going on?” he asked, pouring out two measures and handing one to her. She nodded in thanks.

“Well…” She sighed. “A guy I like has multiple personalities and one of them is a huge fucking asshole that tried to…well…you can figure that out, I suppose. My trouble then lies with two of his other personalities, one of whom is an absolute gentleman and troubled soul, and the other is…Dmitry Petrovich.”

Sasha’s eyes widened. “No shit?” he asked, incredulous.

“No shit.”

“You know Dmitry Petrovich?” Katia nodded, pursing her lips a little. She sipped vodka, and he laughed out of shock. “Holy shit!” he said. “Holy fucking shit.”

“It’s really not all it’s cracked up to be,” she said. “I met the guy for all of three days and then…”

“And then?”

“And then tried to forget about him.” She sipped some more vodka. “Didn’t work so well. I remembered everything about him the second I saw that fucking mug again. Including how I felt about him.”

“Charming,” he said with a light laugh. “What else is going on?”

“That clusterfuck aside, there’s also John Smith, whose name is not really John Smith but that’s what everyone calls him so….” She shrugged. “He’s a dickhead but I think he actually wants a relationship with me. Then…then there’s my brother’s old bosses who are now trying to kill us or reel us back in, depending on how things go; we’re all being hunted by Verax and the people who owe Verax favors for breaking into their server and stealing all their money and files; there’s some kind of treasure hunt that the former US president wants done surrounding my old man and his work, I don’t know why anyone wants that found again…” She took another sip. This was good stuff; it burned the back of her throat.

“So, a lot going on, then,” Sasha said, and Katia nodded. He sipped some vodka and considered her for a moment. “What’re you gonna do?”

“You know, people have been asking me that a lot lately. I…I don’t have an answer.”

“OK.”

Katia sighed. “I just need to lie low for a few days and…stay away from that guy…” She paused. Kryton’s next unit would find and target everyone at that hotel room but her. Only two of them were trained in combat that she knew of, and regardless they would be greatly outgunned. She excused herself, setting the glass on the nightstand nearby and dialing Ian’s number.

“Howe.”

“I’m…sorry I ran off like th—”

“Don’t apologize.”

“That’s not what this is about. Listen to me. A team of highly trained war fighters is on their way to your location…any minute now. If they haven’t found you yet, it will be within twenty-four hours.” As she spoke, she walked over to where Sasha’s laptop lay closed, asking over her shoulder if she could borrow it for a second.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “What’s going on?”

She shook her head and opened it, signing in with his help. She pulled up the main webpage for Kryton Technologies and went through the links 47 sent her.

On the phone, Ian asked, “The same fuckwits that attacked us on the road to Sosnovka?”

“Yeah. They’d have found out about that by now and they’re working on another strike.”

“And you want us to sit tight?”

“I’m saying you might not have time to move.” Katia continued to scan the computer, looking for something useful.

“Then you need to stay where you are, too.”

“I know, just…give me a second.” She pinched the phone between her ear and her shoulder, and then she hatched an idea. “I’ll call you back when I have more information. If it doesn’t happen by the time they get there, you call me. Got it?”

“Roger.”

“Good.” Katia ended that call and then called her brother back. “Bruv, I need help.”


	59. 2007: Questions

“Anything?” Ian asked as he walked into Ben’s dining room, where he sat amidst a veritable pile of newspaper clippings and document papers, studying each of them. He draped his jacket over the back of the chair opposite Ben and settled into a seated position.

“Oh I’m pretty sure I know exactly what went on,” Ben replied. “American spy meets and falls in love with handsome Soviet doctor, and they elope to the US where, eventually, he drops off the grid and begins working on a secret project that almost no one will admit to knowing about. This continues until about nineteen ninety-three or so when he disappears for good, and not even God can find him.”

“So what seems to be the trouble?”

“I can’t figure out why.”

“Why what?”

Ben looked up and then leaned back, folding his hands neatly in front of him. “Y’know, I don’t know. Why he even agreed to this project? But that’s not really it at all. I mean, I’ve never been asked why anyone made Cibola or hid the Templar Treasure or even added to it, for that matter. Maybe…maybe I just can’t wrap my head around why I’ve been asked to find this thing.”

Ian stopped, and leaned back, frowning a little and folding his eyebrows. “Mr. Ben Fucking Patriot Gates is asking why he’s following direct orders from the President?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ben nodded. “Yeah.”

“Damn…” He looked away, pursing his lips and thinking a moment. “Why?” he asked, looking at Ben again.

“Because of exactly what you said, and what Riley said. So far I can’t figure out why a man like the President wants access to any of this. I believe in the inherent goodness of the nation and humanity at large, I believe President Greenwood to be an honorable man, but…”

“Ben, he’s also a politician, and his chief concern is US interests at home and abroad. I told you, I’ve done business with enough people to know that not everyone is a good man.”

“And you doubt him.”

“At best I think he’s misguided. At worst I think he’s lying to you.”

“How do you suggest we find out?”

“We can’t just ring the guy up and ask him! He’s the President!” Ben let out a wry laugh.

“You have a right to know,” Ian replied earnestly.

“How do I even _begin_ to get in touch with the guy without everyone and their grandmother getting suspicious?”

“You did it once before, so I’ve been told.”

“Already played that card. He’d be expecting it the second time around.” Ian couldn’t help but smile. Ben had become much more open to thinking pragmatically, admittedly more like a criminal, these past few years.

“So what do you propose we do about that?”

“What, do you wanna talk to him, see if he’s lying?”

“I want to see him talk to you. It’s as simple as that, really,” Ian said with a light shrug.

“OK.”


	60. 2016: Revisiting The Odd Couple

Diana sighed as she saw yet another report on her desk, something she apparently needed to deal with “yesterday”. Not for the first time, she asked herself about the logistical and professionally ethical concerns of using 47 to eliminate possibly the entire board of directors as well as ninety percent of the Section heads, and maybe one or two Division Chiefs on the side. Not for the first time, she turned herself away from that thought and sat at her desk, a cup of coffee in hand as she opened the folder to the report.

What she saw on the first page nearly made her choke on her coffee. She grabbed it and a couple pieces of plain paper to obscure sensitive details before marching out of her office and down the hall. Everyone in their offices and cubicles looked up at her, and chatter started up around her. She paid it little mind. She pounded her way down two flights of stairs and then marched into another hallway before stepping into the office of Isha Stern, one of the senior analysts at the Chicago office. “What the hell is this?” she demanded, presenting Isha with a crudely cropped version of the paper.

Isha sat up, frowning a little before answering. “Dr. Gates,” she replied bluntly. “He was commissioned by then-President Greenwood to look into the old asylum they tore down in the early nineties.”

“May I ask why?”

“If Greenwood knows exactly, as we assume he does, he’s not telling.”

“And why is this on my desk?”

Isha shrugged. “They’re your agents. It’s your responsibility to figure it out and contain the situation. Or that was what I was told when I prepared the report.” Isha began to sip from her own mug.

“Told by whom?”

Isha gave her a look. “Once the Division Chief was made aware of Dr. Gates’ hunt, he told me to prepare a report on it, personally.”

“He thinks it’s serious.”

“Of course he does. Would you want anyone finding out about ICA financial affairs?”

“No.”

“Exactly. So, as these are your agents you are being asked to either stop or redirect the hunt.”

“As these are my agents I can guarantee that at least one of them will be involved directly,” Diana insisted. In fact, all things considered, she already had a slight inkling about the situation at hand.

“Then inform him.”

Diana wanted to tell this Isha Stern that she did not give her direct orders, but she held her tongue, sighing and walking out of the office. Two seconds later, she popped a Bluetooth device into her ear and made a call.

***

“I wasn’t expecting your call,” 47 said.

“It’s urgent. They know about the hunt,” Diana replied.

“When did you find out?”

“This morning. Since I’ve got it all sorted I needed to let you know, for professional reasons.”

_So, they have something to hide._ “And what is it they want done?”

“Taken care of. They just want this whole matter taken care of.”

“I can give you the assurance that my sister demanded we have a say in what becomes of the find,” he said. “That’s all I can do at this point.”

“Why?”

“I’m busy. In about five minutes you’ll receive a report that I’m signing in from a computer in Russia, looking for satellite data to locate the operatives of Kryton Technologies. This is not me, but don’t try to stop her. Kryton is the real enemy here, at least for now. Furthermore, this goes for the treasure hunter Dr. Gates. He’s not the enemy.”

“And what do you suggest I do?”

“Nothing.”

“You say that like it’s an option.”

“It is an option. You just don’t see it yet.”

“And what does that mean?”

“You’re trying to please everyone. You want to keep your job and look out for me at the same time. But you need to pick a side, Diana. You cannot sustain this forever.”

He heard Diana sigh. “You’re right,” she said. “But I can’t go about advertising the fact.”

“I understand.” He paused a moment. “Be careful.”

“Of course.” Her voice was lighter, and he suspected she was smiling a little.


	61. 2016: This Never Happened

“What’s going on?” Sasha asked Katia after she’d gotten off the phone with her brother.

“The people I came to Russia with are in danger,” Katia replied, logging into the ICA secure database and searching immediately for satellite imagery of the streets of Moscow. “There’s a company here, Kryton Technologies, American-owned with offices around the world and a headquarters in Moscow. Bet the sons of bitches would think my father would run back to a crumbling Soviet state.” Katia scoffed. “The attack on the road to Sosnovka, coupled with Ian Howe’s earlier attack on the entire Verax infrastructure, implies close enough ties for what’s left of Verax to call in a favor. Plus, if Kryton captures either me or my brother, it’s a bonus for them.”

“How so?” Sasha asked, leaning against the wall with a cup of some warm liquid or another in his hands.

Katia shifted on the seat, pulling one ankle under her knee and leaning on the back, her elbow draped over it. “Can you keep a secret, Sasha?”

“Of course.” He frowned a little.

“My father is a man named Dr. Peter Aaron Litvenko.” Sasha’s eyes widened. “Recognize him?”

“He wrote that shitty textbook!”

“ _Teoria i Praktiki_?”

“That’s the one.”

“He’s done more than that, though,” Katia continued. “After he fled the Soviet Union he defected to the US with his then girlfriend, Krista Anne deSilva, a Sri Lankan-American CIA operative and the daughter of a military officer stationed there, and a local woman he never married for unknown reasons. Once there, after being put through the ringer by Langley, he started the Agent Program. The goal was to improve humanity, create soldiers who were faster, smarter, stronger than normal people, unimaginatively called Agents.”

“OK,” Sasha said. He swallowed thickly. “What’s any of this got to do with what’s going on now?”

“When I was six my father fled, leaving me and the entire program behind. He couldn’t take it anymore, so far as I can gather, and he disappeared. I spent my whole life trying to find him, and when I did, he blew up. But I wasn’t the only one looking for him.”

“Of course. That’s the axiom of treasure hunting.”

Katia smirked. “I feel like that’s something I’ve heard before. People have been looking for him, and for the means to create Agents, ever since the program was shut down. As there haven’t been any new Agents since myself, I’m going to presume each attempt has failed. Syndicate International was one such company looking for my father. They captured him, but he wouldn’t talk.” She smiled a little, proud of him. “He killed himself and Antoine LeClerq in a fiery explosion in a helicopter. That just leaves Kryton Technologies, as far as I know.”

“Hold the phone,” Sasha said. “You’re one of these…Agents?”

Katia smiled. “Hard to believe, I know.”

He laughed. “Yeah, no kidding.” He sipped from the cup. “So why are you telling me all this?”

“Once I know enough I plan to go public with the whole story, for one thing, and for another I need you to be prepared when they come knocking on your door demanding to know where I am. I need to be sure you won’t ask them why.”

“You’ve got a lot of faith in me if you think I won’t throw you under the bus.”

“If you do I’ll break your fucking neck.”

Sasha froze, eyes wide as dinner plates and his lips hovering over the rim of his cup. “OK,” he said softly. Katia nodded, mouthing, “OK” in response. The computer beeped, and Katia fumbled for a bit before plugging in a pair of headphones and pulling them over her head. Sasha nodded to her and left the room.

“Yes?” Katia asked, opening the comm link.

“Miss Van Dees?” asked a familiar voice in return. “It’s Diana.”

“Ah, yes, I recall who you are.”

“I was expecting you.”

“He called you, then.”

“Yes, he did. I was somewhat surprised to hear from him.”

“You expected him to go to ground?”

“Yes, actually, I did. But he didn’t.”

Katia smiled. “He never does quite what you expect, does he?”

Diana laughed a bit. “Never in my experience.”

“But, if he’s called you and told you to expect me using his login and password, I presume he’s also told you why.”

“From what I gather you’re being pursued by Kryton Technologies.”

“Not just me, the party I traveled here with, as well. They’re pulling in a favor for Verax and I think if they nabbed me on the side they win twice over.”

“I see. So, what do you need?”

“I’m expecting another Kryton team any minute now, much like the one on the road to Sosnovka. They don’t know I’m staying with a friend of mine, but they know where the others are by now, I’m sure, and I need to warn them properly.”

“Very well.”

Katia watched the screen change before her very eyes, and she jumped a little. Now the satellite feed was real-time, with little dots indicating everyone known to associate with Kryton Technologies. It looked like five to ten percent of the city of Moscow, and considering the state of Russia presently, Katia expected a lot of overlap with “people who’ve had contact with the police”. “Thanks,” Katia replied, studying the footage. A cluster of little dots was moving together along a road toward the hotel she knew Ian and the others were staying at. “I have eyes on the team,” she said.

“Do you need help?”

The odds were about three competent fighters to ten or more, and Katia was not liking those odds. “What happens if I ask you to intervene?”

“On paper you’re your brother. We’ll consider it…assistance for a hit.”

Katia swallowed and pursed her lips a little. “Alright,” she said, and she gave Diana the address of the hotel.


	62. 2016: Siege, Part 1

47 stood, leaving his laptop on the desk in the corner of the hotel room and his phone neatly lined up next to it. He walked over to one of the two beds and set on the corner, sighing a little. Something about the matter with Kryton had begun to nag at him slightly, and when a thought lodged in his brain he had a lot of trouble letting it go. In his world, there were no coincidences, after all.

He stood again and walked over, picking up the disposable phone and texting Katia: ‘ _John Smith. What did he say?_ ’

Katia replied a minute later: ‘ _Amid a bunch of bullshit about how he feels about me: I’m being hunted by Ensign._ ’

‘ _And do you recall them?_ ’

‘ _Yes. They’re the organization your brother’s investigating. Extra-governmental spy agency the CIA doesn’t like so much. Only answers to Verax, but Verax is crippled now._ ’

‘ _Very good._ ’

‘ _You think Ensign passed intel to Kryton so they’d know where to find us to make good on their promise._ ’

***

Shaw leaned back from the window and turned to face Ian. “They’re here,” he said.

“Good,” Ian replied, cocking a gun. “Shaw, stay on the window. Sonya, help me cover the door, if you would.”

“Right,” she said, stepping carefully around John’s unconscious body as she moved to the other side of the doorframe. She paused a moment to look at him, not sure what to make of him anymore. Ian licked his lips a little; he wanted to say something but he had no idea where to begin.

“Ian!” Shaw said. “There’s another car comin’.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ian replied, trying to watch him and listen at the door at the same time. “Katia said they’d be coming.”

“For what?” Sonya asked.

“Reinforcements. There’s a theory floating about that the people who keep trying to kill us have some kind of extra-official backing. We think it’s Verax but we’re not sure how, yet. So, we need to be careful.” Ian looked back at the door, listening intently and waiting.

“What about him?” she asked, flicking her eyes to John Howe.

“He’s in no shape.”

Ian licked his lips, bracing against the doorframe. He tried to hear them coming, hoping that feeling he was getting was him sensing them getting closer.

***

Katia jiggled her leg fiercely and nearly chewed her lip as she watched the dots of Kryton operatives in their big van park in front of the hotel and seemingly file out. It was almost time for Ian and the others to fight their way out of a corner. She wanted to be there helping them take out Kryton jarheads left, right, and center. She itched to be doing something, rather than watching from the goddamned sidelines!

“You OK?” Sasha asked, and Katia jumped, looking at him. He’d put on a shirt and skinny jeans, and he’d combed his hair.

“Fine…” she said softly, somewhat distracted. “Just…distracted with everything.” She sighed and looked back at the computer screen.

Sasha walked over to a chair and propped it up next to her, and he straddled it, folding his arms across the back. “Wanna tell me about it?”

“I…I need to do something,” she said. “For my whole life I was looking for my father, and since he died a few months ago I’m starting to realize that…I have no purpose now. My life is now this…mish-mash of little missions with no real meaning behind any of it and I feel…lost and out of touch and my need to do something keeps me going but in this case I…I feel like I can’t. If I try I could get there too late to be useful.”

“So…what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know yet.” She sighed, shaking her head a little bit. “There’s…something else, too.”

“ _Da?_ ”

“The man who killed my mother. I have to take care of that.”

He stared at her for a moment. “Wow,” he said. “OK.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“So…what’re you gonna do?”

“I need to find him. More than that, I…” She sighed. “I want to kill him.” Sasha stared, his jaw hanging loose. “I…I think…I…feel…the drive to kill, beyond just doing something. The more I think about it and the less…hopped up I am…the more it seems to be there.” Sasha continued to gape. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be a killer. I just…”

“It’s a weird Agent thing?” Sasha guessed.

Katia took a moment to let it sink in. “Yeah…yeah that’s exactly what it is.” It made sense. The slowness of time and the complete disconnect from her own emotions that had come with the hunt, the kill, these days certainly seemed like a weird Agent thing. Maybe she should talk to 47 about it. Or maybe it meant she was just developing, coming off the drugs and just being a late bloomer in general. She let out a sigh. “You won’t tell anyone, right?”

“On my honor,” he replied, giving her a Boy Scout salute.

“OK. Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure.”


	63. 2016: Siege, Part 2

Feet in combat boots stormed down the hall, and Ian leaned into the doorframe. He curled his finger around the trigger, tensing for a fight. He glanced at Shaw, who was watching him nervously. He wanted to be closer to him, Ian could tell, and frankly Ian wanted the same thing. He sighed a little, trying to force himself to be moderately OK with his distance from his man. After all, at least they were in the same room.

The boots stopped in front of the door, and Ian heard the men fan out along either length of the hall. _Trained bastards, then,_ he surmised. Carefully he raised his hand and clicked the locks. He drew back quickly as one of the men started kicking the door in. Shaw looked over, rushing to a midway point between Ian and the window. The door caved in, splintering down the middle and almost breaking in two. Ian fired first, landing the first shot across the intruder’s neck and spraying blood everywhere. The rest of the scene was abject chaos. Ian, for his part, was sure that after the hostiles returned fire, Shaw shot back, knocking off two headshots and covering for Sonya, who delivered a few rounds into arms and legs.

A round ripped through Ian’s arm, carving a long, deep slash into muscle tissue and possibly grazing the bone as well. He cried out and slumped against the wall, dropping the gun and clutching the wound with his free hand. Shaw focused squarely on the man at the front, pumping one, two rounds into his head and watching him drop with a strange satisfaction dampened only by the existence of Ian’s injury. Shaw rushed over to him, squatting next to him and resting a hand on his shoulder. He touched the area around the wound only for Ian to wince and his fingertips to come away bloody. He looked at the doorway, waiting for another of these rat bastards, when he picked up on shouting down the hall near the elevator. This must’ve been the unit Katia told Ian about.

Shaw set his gone down and shifted his attention to Ian’s gunshot wound. Sonya glanced at him, but she told him to keep shooting if absolutely necessary. Ian was blinking fiercely now, as if trying to clear his vision, and sweat beaded on his reddening face. He thought for a moment, bouncing on the balls of his feet, as the chaos moved to the hallway when the intruders noticed their backup. Shaw tried not to look, instead pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and tying it around Ian’s upper arm as a makeshift tourniquet. “It’s not the cleanest option, love,” he said, “but it’ll have to do for now. You stay there.” Ian mustered up a nod, and Shaw stood and assessed the situation again.

ICA members were stepping over corpses or unconscious people, detaining the ones they were sure were still alive, and running a sweep of the hall just in case there were more on the way. One of them stepped into the room, asking in a thick Russian accent, “Is everything alright?”

“Ian needs a hospital,” Shaw replied in perfect Russian. The commando looked at Ian, slumped on the floor and struggling to even out his breathing. At least he wasn’t bleeding as badly now. The man nodded and gestured to his compatriots, calling in Russian to prep the van to transport him. Shaw and the commando moved to Ian, helping him up. Ian leaned on his man and stumbled over a few limbs of the unconscious and the dead. The commando kept a hand on Ian’s uninjured upper arm and led them gently down the hall to the elevator. Ian slumped more and more heavily against Shaw’s side, until Shaw decided it was easier to grab Ian around the waist and sling him over his shoulder.

Ian felt himself rocking, and he almost wanted to be sick, but he couldn’t. His vision continued to blur, but he didn’t believe he was going to die. After all, Shaw was right there. Shaw would never let anything like that happen to him. He fumbled around with his hands until he could do something resembling petting Shaw’s back, and then he sighed and slipped into unconsciousness.

***

Ian awoke again in the hospital hooked up to a bag of blood and some kind of painkiller, probably morphine, the opiate of choice in most places. Shaw sat in a plastic chair next to his bed, in a room he shared with several other patients, all talking quite a bit in Russian, to nurses and visitors alike. “They think I’m gonna live?” he managed to quip.

“Looks that way,” Shaw replied. “You freaked me the fuck out, there, Ian.”

Ian nodded. “Figured,” he said softly, smiling a little. Shaw, in spite of everything, smiled back. “How many stitches?”

“Fifteen. That fucker ripped your arm up like nothin’ else.”

“So I won’t be using it much, then.”

“Not for a while.”

Ian nodded. “Right, then.”

“They wanna hang onto you for another day or so for observation, but otherwise you’re fine. Just need to take some raunchy shit for the pain and that’s about it.”

“OK.” He closed his eyes and sighed heavily before looking up at the ceiling. “Everyone’s alright, right?”

“Yeah, Sonya and I are fine, those ICA guys have the survivors in for questioning, all locked up tight.”

“Katia?”

“Showed up with a Russian prostitute about half an hour ago.”

“Friend of hers?”

“Way she tells it.” Ian smirked, nodding as if to say, “ _Sure_ it is.” He didn’t judge, of course. He barely knew the woman and it was her bed to do with as she chose.

“They must go way back, though.”

Shaw pursed his lips and nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“Tell her it’s only a flesh wound. I’m gonna be fine.” Shaw merely laughed.


	64. 2007: Of Politics And Men

Ben smiled, shaking the President’s hand in the middle of a room full of Secret Service and press. Ian smiled politely, shaking his hand as well when he was introduced (as Ben’s “colleague”, he noted) and watched people watching him. The Secret Service people scrutinized him, which he deemed appropriate, and he heard press people whispering. What little he caught indicated that they knew not only about his imprisonment on American soil but also about his operations in Britain. He tried to remember if that came out in the trial or not, and he couldn’t. There was one comment to the effect of, “He escaped, you know. How’d you think he got away with that?”

The President smiled, gesturing for Ben to come forward. Ian hesitated a moment before following. “Your colleague, he’s helping you with…what we discussed?” he asked Ben, who nodded and answer the affirmative. “Alright,” the President replied, nodding. The three of them walked upstairs to the Treaty Room, followed only by Secret Service, who closed the doors behind them.

Ian looked around. “What’s all this?” he asked.

“The Treaty Room,” President Greenwood explained as he took a seat at a long, Victorian desk. “Almost every treaty in our nation’s history has been signed on this very desk.” He gestured somewhat elaborately to the surface before him.

“I see,” Ian noted, registering a slight amount of private embarrassment at being the Riley in this situation. Ben took a seat on the ottoman, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him.

“Mr. President,” he began. “This is about what we discussed.”

“I see.”

“Is there any trouble?”

“Well, I don’t know. See, I think I’ve found the answer. But, sir, I’d like to know what exactly you get out of this.”

President Greenwood nodded, chewing his lip slightly as he weighed Ben’s words. Ian regarded him, trying to read his expression. The President sighed and said, “Ben, look, I’m not the only one who’s after what Dr. Litvenko was developing. I don’t even really care about the work itself. I just want you to find it and secure it before some other wackjob gets there and decides he’s going to create an army full of human weapons depots. If anything will tip the balance of power, it’s Dr. Litvenko’s work, and then suddenly it’s not about countries anymore, but companies.”

Ben and Ian watched him in silence, absorbing what he had to say. Ian in particular was somewhat stunned, but Ben merely gave a faint knowing smile. Ian looked at him, quirking an eyebrow slightly. “You knew he’d say something like this,” he said softly, and Ben looked at him.

“Is something wrong?” President Greenwood asked Ian before Ben could say anything.

Ian leaned back, watching him a moment with an expression imitating surprise. “No,” he said. “Not as far as I can tell.” He looked at Ben again, nodding. They carried between them an implicit understanding that this would be discussed later. It worked for Ian, so long he could get out of this godforsaken hellbox the President called an office. The walls were starting to feel as if they were caving in, and Ian took a deep breath in an effort to steady his nerves.

The meeting continued for another fifteen minutes, including the time before they could leave. Ian waited until he and Ben were clear of the Secret Service and most of the press people in front of the White House before turning to Ben. “What the fuck was that back there?” he demanded in low, clipped tones.

“I believe President Greenwood to be an honorable man,” Ben replied. “I told him as much when I kidnapped him.”

“Wait, so he knows you think that?” Ben nodded. “Christ!” he spat, turning slightly and running a hand through his hair.

“What?” Ben asked, his hands at his sides and his eyebrows creased. He sounded somewhere between truly confused and somehow offended.

Ian sighed. “He knew you were going to trust him outright!” he almost shouted, facing him again. “You gave him that card to play with and he’s playing with it by spouting the most altruistic shit that he possibly can! He’s a politician, Ben!”

“Oh, gee! I didn’t notice!”

“Well you’ve clearly missed the bloody point, Ben! I still don’t know if he’s lying to you but you believe every word that comes out of his mouth. I heard the same damned thing and I can’t believe you didn’t recognize it as the blatant TV line they say all the time, that it clearly is!” Ian sighed in exacerbation and turned away again, burying his eyes in his hand. He breathed heavily, trying to regain control of himself. “Ben, with all due respect, you’re a fucking idiot,” he said, looking at him again. “Now come on, let’s go the fuck home.”


	65. 2016: Stagnant

Ian sighed, shifting uncomfortably around his injured arm as he settled into the plane seat and fished out his phone, long after they were in the air. He pressed a button on speed dial and waited a bit. “Hello, Ben? We’re comin’ home,” he said, to Ben’s answering machine, and he hung up without saying anything else. There was too much to say and it couldn’t be done to an answering machine or even over the phone. He looked at John, at Shaw and Sonya and Katia. Technically it was a mission success but he noticed the distance Katia kept from John, preferring to sit next to Ian or Shaw than anywhere near him.

It had devolved into a total clusterfuck. John’s temperament toward Ian was one thing, but attacking Katia…that was where everything had gone downhill. That and Kryton sending operatives after them twice. That added to the ambience of clusterfuck that surrounded the whole situation. So, in short, this was a mess and now Ian felt like he had to clean it all up somehow. After all, his brother was his responsibility outside of MI6. He sighed; this was exactly what he got for his brother being psychotic, even though none of it was his fault he still bore responsibility.

He used to feel resentment for that. No matter how much he cared about his brother he couldn’t tow the man around with him like so much dead weight, waiting for when some random legend would decide to take over and having to deal with or mitigate the consequences. For legends like Lincoln this wasn’t so bad, but Dante was dangerous and, as he’d heard, Dmitry even more so. As much as John’s disappearance in 2004 hit him, as much as he debated with himself about the possibility that he might be dead, Ian couldn’t deny that he was, in part, relieved. He was just as relieved, or perhaps a little more, as every time John went for another mission to another seedy part of the world to serve his country. And, just as it had whenever he heard John was home again, when he resurfaced Ian felt the weight of responsibility taking the air from his lungs just as it always had before.

Ian kept all that a secret, from everyone except Shaw.

Now John had resurfaced and, beyond the crushing sense of responsibility, Ian desperately wanted Martin back. Martin was reasonable and kind and polite, and tried to impose as little as possible. John had always, historically, brought clusterfuck wherever he went, and the dangerous things he was subjected to in the field helped exactly zilch and caused a list of damages longer than Ian’s two arms combined. He looked at John, somewhat pinned between Sonya and Shaw and under threat of physical harm or death if he tried anything. That seemed to be the only thing that stopped him now. John met his gaze, and Ian looked away, sighing a little and biting his lip.

What the hell was he going to do when they got home?

***

47 sighed, staring out the car window across the lawn to Tomlin’s mansion. As Katia described, the home of the late Senator Gorman was nearby. It looked to him like so much ostentation and display of respectability, all carefully crafted to mask a monster—a monster he was determined to expose. After several moments he got out of the car, walking across the street and down a pathway to the main driveway of this pretentious monstrosity. With nothing out at that time of day but a light, pleasant breeze off the Potomac, he stepped up to the door and began picking it. The door opened about fifteen seconds later, allowing him to slip inside and deal with the standard alarm system currently going off. He glanced at the key panel. This part was generally trickier, but most people used one of three dates: birthday, loved one’s birthday, or anniversary. He thought for a moment, recalling what he knew of Conrad Tomlin, and entered four digits, silencing the alarm.

He took a deep breath and scanned the foyer, catching glimpses of the living room, the dining room, and the downstairs office. It looked far too neat, but he walked inside and ran a cursory search. Finding nothing but the walls of unopened, never used books, empty drawers, and a desk kept perfectly clean, as if there was nothing on it, he moved upstairs. He found two more, equally neat offices, and he realized this place was a decoy. Tomlin must have only held meetings related to Verax affairs here, and everything else was done either from his office or from a hotel room or apartment somewhere else in D.C. He certainly kept his records somewhere else.

47 sighed a little and retreated downstairs, stepping out through the back door and taking a roundabout way back to his car. He settled into the seat and sighed again, knowing now that he needed a new strategy. Just going from his home to his office would be too risky, and he was not in the mood to explain unofficial business, trying to pass as official business, to the Secret Service and whomever they shipped him off to for “enhanced interrogation”. While his training had covered how to handle such in much more detail than necessary, it was still a less than ideal situation.

He glanced in his mirror at Stan, his assigned tail for the day, and then eased off the curb with Stan following at the Agency standard of three car lengths behind him.


	66. 2016: The Morning After

When they touched down at JFK International and filed through Customs, 47 was waiting for them, holding up a sign reading ‘HOWE’ in big, bold letters. Katia ran up to him, throwing her arms around him with a heavy sigh of relief. 47 froze, shocked, but he masked it when she released him. “Thank God,” she said, breathing heavily. “Thank fucking God.” She turned, her eyes on the party she traveled with. Ian and Shaw flanked John, and Sonya hung back. 47 stepped to one side, gesturing for them all to come with him, and he fell into step beside Katia.

“Did you have a nice flight?” he asked.

“No,” she said in a low voice. He glanced at her, suspecting she was talking about whatever prompted her to leave the hotel and call him. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed the bandage around Ian’s arm, poking out from under his tee shirt. He looked back at Katia again, watching her focus squarely on her path through the terminal and outside. She seemed on-edge, and 47 remembered the phone call from the hotel.

“Dr. Gates called,” he said, to change the subject.

“What does he want?”

“He wants to pay the old asylum a visit.”

Katia paused and looked at him. “Serious?” he asked. He nodded. “Why?”

47 shrugged and continued walking, Katia jogging a little to catch up to him. “He seems to have an inherent drive to finish the hunt, no matter what it is. I think it’s a matter of pride for him.”

“And what, exactly, is he hoping to gain by this?”

“He wouldn’t say. I’m not sure if even he knows.”

“You realize how shady this sounds, right?”

“I know.” They walked out the double doors, holding them for the others in their group. Katia nodded to Shaw while managing to keep her eyes off John, and then she looked at Sonya.

“I…” Sonya began, standing with her at the doorway.

Katia shook her head. “You don’t need to say anything,” she replied. “It’s not your fault.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“OK.”

“I understand if you don’t want to talk to Martin after all this, or any of his legends,” she said. “After what happened, I don’t think I want to, either.” She sighed. “I’ll talk to his superior at the FBI first thing in the morning.”

“Please stop talking,” Katia said, almost before Sonya could finish. “I don’t need you to defend me.” She gave Sonya a hard look and then walked over to where 47 stood, watching the scene with a mildly puzzled expression.

“What was that about?” he asked when they were relatively isolated.

Katia swallowed a little. “I’ll tell you about it later,” she promised. She wasn’t yet sure how _much_ she was going to tell him, but she had to at least give him the basics. “When does Ben want to see us about going to the old lab?”

“As soon as convenient.”

“Fair enough.”

***

Katia had been up for hours, watching the sunrise in their hotel room. She insisted on staying with her brother and no one else, to which everyone else readily agreed, and she only explained everything to her brother after he promised her not to act on it. Why she included such a provision, she could only guess. Perhaps it was because of Martin, and perhaps it was Dmitry. Perhaps, then, it was both.

“How did you sleep?” 47 asked, and Katia jumped, spinning around to face him.

“Oh,” she said softly as she collected herself. She swallowed a little and took another sip of water. “Um…alright, I guess. I didn’t hear you get up.”

47 hummed a little, frowning. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve been better,” she replied.

“We’re meeting Dr. Gates in an hour and a half.”

“And Ian?”

“Ian, and at least one bodyguard, presumably Shaw.”

Katia nodded, sipping some more water. “I presume the others will be sent to mind John.” She laughed wryly for a moment. “He must hate us all right now for treating him like a child.”

“He deserved it.”

“True…”

“Are you hungry?”

“I…” She looked around, thinking maybe she would pack something, perhaps, and knowing what he wasn’t saying. It would be a long time before they were safe enough again. “We should at least make a bagged lunch,” she said.

“Alright.”

“We’re not coming back, are we? I mean, there’s a chance we aren’t.”

“Something feels off to you?”

“You said there were no coincidences, ever.” He merely nodded, turning to the kitchenette. She followed him. “It’s not about the remains of an abandoned, demolished building. I’m not even sure if this is about my father or his work.”

47 glanced at her, frozen in time for a split second while Katia realized the weight of what she had just said. Katia merely swallowed.


	67. 2016: West Virginia

Ben leaned on the side of a big black SUV, his arms folded across his chest. Ian and Shaw were waiting as well, watching Katia and 47 approach, carrying a cooler between them. 47 glanced over his shoulder at the collection of black sedans parked on the side of the road. “Who’re they?” Ben asked when he got close enough.

“The task force team assigned to keep track of us,” 47 replied bluntly, he and Katia hoisting the cooler into the back of the SUV.

“What’s in there?” Ian asked.

“Food,” Katia replied. After a beat, she added, “Just…food…”

“So why are we being followed?” Ben asked.

“Not you. Just my brother and I.”

“Can you make them leave?”

“Why should we?” 47 asked while Katia closed the hatch.

“You’re sure they’re safe?”

“I prefer Bolton’s team to any other team they could send after us,” 47 remarked simply. He scanned the car through the rear window, spotting Abigail in the passenger seat and Jackie and Riley in the first row of rear seats. He was leaning on her shoulder, and as he walked around to the rear passenger door he spotted Jackie’s fingers curling around Riley’s hair. “They’re close,” he observed.

“Yeah, goin’ on nine years or so,” Ben replied. 47 nodded a little and popped open the door, lowing the empty second-row seat to allow Katia, and himself, to step into the third row. Ben climbed in behind the wheel, and for a moment Ian and Shaw hesitated. Shaw decided to step into the third seat and pull up the seat, and Ian settled in next to Jackie and Riley. The three groups were already apparent to 47 as Ben pulled away. 47 didn’t even need to glance behind him to know that the task force was right behind them.

“Where’re we going?” Riley asked.

“West Virginia,” Katia replied.

***

The drive lasted approximately six hours, taking first an interstate and, once they crossed into West Virginia, taking a series of back roads as directed by Katia and 47. Sometimes Katia caught herself staring out at the scenery, trying to remember the car rides she went on with her parents before the death of her mother, but she always pulled herself out of it. Finally, deep in the middle of the West Virginia wilderness, in a huge artificial clearing surrounded by firs, they parked the car. “This is somewhat underwhelming,” Shaw said.

“That’s because they tore the place down in the early nineties and hid the evidence,” Ben replied.

“Maybe the basement’s still here,” Katia said.

“Basement?” This from Riley. “You’re telling me that a creepy abandoned madhouse had a _basement_?”

“All creepy abandoned madhouses have basements.”

“On _that_ light-hearted note,” Ian said, “perhaps we should take a look around, just in case.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ben said with a shrug. He and Abigail were the first ones out of the car, followed in systematic fashion by everyone else. Katia, observing this, thought it was beautiful and strange and perfectly logical. She stepped out of the car last and took a few moments to feel the snow under her shoes. Something about this place was crisp but not too cold, seeming to fill her lungs with life more than just air. 47 looked at her, observing her reaction to stepping back onto familiar ground. She looked back at him, wondering how many times he thought she crossed by this place without knowing.

“So, what’re we looking for?” Ben asked, pulling Katia from her thoughts.

“Right, yes,” she said, as she moved past him deeper into the clearing. “There was a secret hatch in case my father needed to get to the basement labs in an emergency, or escape from them.” She scanned the terrain, looking for irregularities. “Provided the basement is intact, the hatch should be around here somewhere.”

47 walked across the clearing in a slow, measured way, looking blankly ahead and listening to his footsteps for something hollow, or the sound of metal.

Ben watched them, his hands on his hips, and he looked at Ian. “I once asked you why I was doing this. I once asked former president Greenwood.”

“I remember,” Ian replied. “I remember what I said to you, too. I chewed your ass over the fact that Greenwood is a politician by career. Lying is in that man’s blood. I respect your decision to continue the hunt but my reservations still stand.”

“Oh, really? Then why didn’t you bring it up earlier?”

“Because you’re stubborn as a mule and it would never work, which forces me to trust you, besides the fact that I know you have the best intentions out of all of us.”

“You actually trust me? I didn’t notice,” Ben remarked sardonically.

“Of course I trust you, Ben. Because I know without a doubt that you’re an honest man, and I wouldn’t have let you live this long otherwise.” Ian laughed a little and clapped Ben on the shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go see what we can find.” He set off across the field, and Ben, Abigail, Jackie, and Riley followed him.

Katia stomped a couple of times on a patch of thin earth and then called out, “Over here!” Quickly enough the others gathered around her. She and 47 cleared away the snow and somewhat loose topsoil, unearthing a partially rusted hatch handle. Then, for a moment, everything was still. Katia and 47 looked at each other, as if silently debating who should do the honors after all these years.

Then, in the tense quiet, there was the sound of tires crunching over snow and dirt.


	68. 2007: Alone On A Road

Despite Ian’s reservations, Ben couldn’t help but feel drawn to this case. He wasn’t sure whether it was the pull of the mystery itself, or his usual desire to get to the end of any treasure hunt instilled in him by the long, obsessive quest for the Templar Treasure. Either way, he wanted to be sure he saw this through to the end, not only for himself, but in the hopes that he could continue to serve his country and honor the President’s wishes.

He re-examined every piece he had collected so far and then, working on a sketchy and half-formed hypothesis, hopped in his car and made a roughly six-hour drive into West Virginia from his home in Washington, D.C. He stopped in a sleepy little town on the border with Virginia and asked a sweet little old lady at a diner some questions about the area and about Soviet defectors. She told a lurid story about a Russian man named Petr who stopped by and talked about purchasing an old madhouse in the wilderness, “Why anyone would build a madhouse there is beyond me.” She never saw the man again and had almost forgotten him before Ben brought it up. Ben thanked her and paid for a cup of coffee while he chatted up other locals.

Through them he learned of abandoned roads that led into the woods, some said the whole scene was haunted because of suicides or some such. Ben put little stake in claims that anything was haunted, but one of his best friends was a man who swore up and down that for generations his family had been protected by the spirit of a Regular named Martha Wade. So, he sipped his coffee politely and allowed the man to continue with his account.

He settled his bill at the diner and drove off into the woods, finding the abandoned track relatively quickly and following it. The road carried him through a long, lazy meandering tour of the best that West Virginia’s wilderness had to offer. The trees provided both ample shade and plenty to look at, and when he rolled down the window he could hear the soft bubbling of a river in the distance. Go out far enough into a place like this and no one can hear you scream, as Ian would’ve pointed out. Frankly, Ben would’ve said the same thing. He’d always been something of a downer like that.

He drove along the road until he came across an expansive, rectangular artificial clearing. The grass had well grown over what looked like earth that had been disturbed and then flattened down into something resembling evenness once again. Ben parked the car and stepped out, his hands on his hips while he scanned the clearing.

He wanted to set out and explore the clearing a bit, try to get the lay of the land, when he heard a car pull up behind him. He turned, but by then the driver had already gotten out, pointing a gun at him and ordering him to freeze. Ben’s hands were in the air instinctively. He had no idea if he would be surrounded or what would happen. This wasn’t a cop, he could tell that much. “Can I help you?” he called to the man with the gun. In his experience, it was far better to be cooperative than to try to fight one’s way out.

“Sir, step away from the vehicle,” the man replied. Ben obliged, moving sideways across the dirt road and keeping his hands where the other guy could see them. “What’re ya doin’ out here, ah…”

“Gates,” Ben replied. “Dr. Gates. I was sent here by the President.”

“Really,” the man said, incredulous and letting Ben know it.

“I know you’ve got no reason to believe me. It’s all very hush-hush.” Ben laughed a bit, trying to lighten the mood and work out his nerves.

“How do we know you’re not lying?”

_We? Shit, that was a problem._ “Ask anyone I’ve ever played poker with. I can’t bluff.”

“That may be, but we’d like to ask you a few questions.” The man cocked his head toward his car. “Get in.”

Ben nodded. “OK,” he said, and he started over, keeping his hands up until he needed them to open the back door and climb in the seat. Already he was running through a mental list of things to accomplish in his first call from an interrogation room, provided he got that far to start with.


	69. 2016: Unexpected Visitors

As a collective, the group stared out over the road, waiting for the car or cars to pull up. Katia looked at 47. “Where are the others?” she asked.

“They’re here, they’re just hidden,” 47 replied. “They’re authorized to tail us, not to intervene.”

“And what if we need intervention?” she shot back.

“Then they’ll know.” By his tone, Katia could tell 47 wasn’t just talking about the task force operatives. She wondered if his agency would back them this time or leave him for dead. It also meant that someone else entirely was coming, and when she spotted an armored car on the icy track, she knew she was right.

Katia opened her mouth to tell everyone to hide, but 47 surreptitiously touched her elbow, drawing her back a little. She looked at him, staring impassively but intently at the car as it came around the bend into plain view, and she nodded, straightening and swallowing her fear. He was probably right. It would be better to let things play out as they would, and if they got into a shooting match, it couldn’t possibly be worse than three on four (or thirteen on four if the task force saw need to get involved).

The car pulled to a stop just ahead of Ben’s car and to the other side of the track, and four men climbed out, three clad in black body-armored commando suits, helmet, M16, and all, and one in a long, heavy overcoat with the collar turned up. The commandos pointed their guns at the haphazard group of treasure hunters…if it could be called that…but the man in the overcoat ordered, “Stand down!” and stepped out in front of them.

“Doesn’t look like Secret Service,” Ben stated.

“They’re not,” Greenwood replied matter-of-factly.

“Y’know, something I never understood, people bringing a lot of extra muscle to a treasure hunt. You don’t need a bunch of guys with big guns, especially out here in a place like this.” He gestured vaguely and expansively to the clearing around them and then looked at Greenwood again. “I’m starting to think people do this on purpose.”

“Then why are two Agents with you?”

Katia and 47 froze, but Ben took this in stride. “This place is theirs,” he said. “It belonged to their father, now it…belongs to them.”

“Bullshit. This is property of the United States government.”

“You’re not even an elected official anymore, what’s the point?” Ian pointed out.

“And sh-shouldn’t they be US soldiers, then?” Riley asked. Katia glanced at him. _Good point,_ she thought as she looked back at the three men Greenwood had brought with him.

“They should be,” Greenwood said easily, “but a few of our nation’s best and brightest would be missed.”

“So why not come alone?” Ben asked. “What’s all this show for?”

“It’s not for show.”

“If you’re worried about us killing you, that’s not part of the arrangement,” 47 said. “Though if you want to reassure us the same way, you’re not doing a good job.”

“Maybe you should’ve put the guns away before you said that.”

“Actually, we’re not the ones with the M16s,” Ben said. Greenwood paused a little, blinking a couple times and frowning. Ben turned to his cohorts. “What do we do?” he asked in a low voice, making a point of looking at Katia and 47. The siblings glanced at each other and then at Ben.

“Which of us is the best liar?” Katia asked, ironically wishing John Smith was there. The man was damned good.

“I’ve got this,” Ian said, nodding to her a little. “What do you need me to say?”


	70. 2007: Classified Location

Ben stared around as the car drove through parts of West Virginia that he frankly didn’t recognize. The man looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Nervous?” he asked.

“Well I’d like to know where we’re going,” Ben replied.

“Can’t tell ya. We’re just going to question you for a bit, if you cooperate, you get to go home.”

_Somehow I doubt that._ “Alright.”

The car wound up a long stretch of two-lane road to another alcove in the forest, tucked away. The building there looked like what Ben imagined the old asylum might’ve looked like, except grey, very grey. The car drove through a depression in the ground hidden by large pots of geraniums and into a parking garage. The driver eased the car into a seemingly random slot in an empty level, and then he helped Ben out. They crossed the level in relative silence until they reached an elevator. “Welcome to ECA,” he said as he pressed a button.

“Huh?”

“Ensign Control and Assessment.”

Ben frowned, but before he could answer the doors opened, and two men grabbed him from behind. One stuck a needle in his neck, and seconds later Ben’s world faded to black.

***

When he came to, his hands were chained to the floor, a point between his legs and the legs of the chair. He groaned and looked up at the harsh, bare bulb overhead. He blinked and looked across the table, where a burly man in a tight green tee shirt and a buzz cut looked at him. “Dr. Gates, is it?” the man asked. Ben observed his hands for a moment, folded neatly on the table.

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s me,” he said groggily.

“I’m Jason Shaw.”

Ben let out a small, weak chuckle. “I know a Shaw,” he noted conversationally. “No relation, I’m sure.”

Jason Shaw shrugged. “Normally I wouldn’t do this, but…I wanted to interrogate you myself.”

“S’pose I should be honored.” Ben smirked a little, and the man gave him a look, so he dropped it.

“What’re you doing here?”

Ben took a deep breath. “I spoke to the President,” he said. “He asked me to look into something for him, in the Book of Secrets. The trail of clues…led me out here.”

“To middle of nowhere, West Virginia.”

“Right.”

Jason Shaw started to laugh, shaking his head. “Do you even _know_?” he asked. “Do you _know_ what’s out here?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

Jason continued to laugh, and Ben watched him impassively. This guy was a piece of work. Jason leaned back in his chair, his hands moving to his knees as his fit of laughter abated. “I…I can’t tell if you’re smart, or if you’re just fuckin’ stupid.”

“Depends on your definition of…either, really.”

“Yeah, well you can play word games all you want, but you’re not the one in charge here.”

“I was told if I cooperated I could go home, so why am I chained to the floor?”

“We can’t take any chances. Heard you were a wild one, Dr. Gates. Stealing the Declaration of Independence, kidnapping the President…” Ben couldn’t help but smirk a little. Yes, he’d done those, and was somewhat surprised to find out that this stranger knew about them. “You don’t deny it?” Ben looked at him, surprised at his tone. Jason himself seemed surprised, and somehow Ben felt that was a bad thing.

“What do you want me to do, lie?” Ben asked in response.

“I thought you were a patriot, at least!”

“I am a patriot, but I’m also a treasure hunter—treasure protector.”

Jason laughed a little more and shook his head. “Right,” he said. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Ben watched him a moment, wondering if he should at least ask for a phone call, or tell the guy to make the necessary calls himself. It was clear this man wouldn’t believe him without proof. So, Ben took a deep breath, straightening up as much as possible and watching his interrogator. “That is right,” he said.

“You don’t even know what it _means_ to be a patriot.”

“To serve your country, to protect it from all enemies foreign and domestic, to contribute to it, generally possess a strong support and attachment to your country. Naturally, as you can guess, people of opposing views can still consider themselves patriots.”

Jason leaned back, his hands on the armrests of the chair, and nodded, somewhat impressed. “OK, so, maybe you do know what you’re talking about,” he said. Ben noted he was unwilling to cede that Ben was right. Jason leaned forward and shook his head. “But you…you’re not a patriot.”

“And how do you know that?”

“No president in their right mind would send some academic schlub like you out to the middle of nowhere looking for an asylum that doesn’t exist anymore and some…shade of an old program to make…what? Super soldiers?”

“Now I don’t follow,” Ben said, shaking his head. He thought that this guy was insane.

“You didn’t know what was at the end of this, did you.”

“I didn’t, no.”

“Well now you do.”

“Do I? Because frankly I think you’re spinning a conspiracy theory straight out of your ass.” He couldn’t help but laugh a little.

Jason nodded, as if to say, “Think what you will,” and he stood and moved toward the door.

“HEY!” Ben called as he left. “ _Hey!_ Are you gonna leave me in here?!” There was no response, which Ben, begrudgingly, took as a ‘yes’.


	71. 2016: Suburbia

While Victor and Phil were watching John and making sure he didn’t get into any more trouble, Powell had delayed crossing the country a day while he reconnected with Damien, whom he found standing across the street from Sonya and Aiden’s new safe house. “How’s it look?” he asked. Damien glanced up at him, then looked at the safe house.

“Safe, I suppose,” Damien replied. “Dexter’s still in hospital but that giant fuck…”

Powell looked at him. “What now?”

“His name is apparently Sanchez, and he’s been basically guarding the door to Dexter’s room for the past four days. Seven and a half feet tall, I caught a glimpse of him during the incident, after Aiden and I fled the house. A behemoth, that man is.”

“Yikes.” Damien laughed in agreement, shaking his head a little. “Hey, listen, your pops are back from Russia.”

“Oh?” Damien looked at him, quirking an eyebrow.

“Look…there’s a couple things you should know. To start with, your uncle is more off his rocker than we anticipated.” Powell sighed. “The second thing is, they know where the treasure is.”

“What treasure?”

“It’s not a treasure, per se,” Powell said, shifting his weight a little. “It’s in West Virginia. They think whatever it is has something to do with—”

“The newcomers.”

“Exactly. Hey…” Powell trailed off, noticing that Damien’s stare was somewhat distant. “Everything alright?”

Damien barely looked at him, instead feeling the creeping chill that meant an enemy was close. “We’ve got trouble,” he said so softly only Powell could hear him. “Somewhere…in this suburb…is Sanchez.”

“Wh-How can you tell?” Powell asked, before Damien shushed him and pointed to the sidewalk. Powell focused, wondering what he was supposed to feel or sense, but he could pick up nothing. But by then it wasn’t necessary. When he looked up he spotted the man, just about as tall as Shaq by Powell’s estimate and shaped like a barrel with limbs and a head but no neck. He looked back at Damien, but Damien was gone. He ambled into an alley between houses, attempting to make himself scarce as well. He heard a sound, and turned toward it. A garage door swung open, banging against the wall before swinging back again. Powell ran up to it, closing it gently as he stepped inside. “Damien,” he whispered harshly while he waited for his eyes to adjust. “Damien?”

“Yeah?” he replied just as softly, before looking back at the tools on the bench.

“Wh-what are you doing?” he asked.

“Just assessing our options. We don’t have the advantage of size. Well…you’ve got a head start on me in that department, but still.”

Powell nodded, though he wasn’t quite sure he understood. “Wait…are you going to _fight_ Sanchez?”

“No.” Powell dropped his shoulders in relief. “I’m going to kill him,” Damien said, picking up a nail gun.

Powell looked at him, dumbstruck. “What?” he asked, almost letting himself slip into normal volume before checking himself. “Will that be enough?”

Damien shrugged. “In the right spots, yeah.” He slipped around past Powell and back through the garage door. Powell followed him, once again closing the door gently behind him.

Damien was forging a new path through the suburbs, a tangled web of overly sunshine-y street names and identical houses. Powell could only hope to keep up with Damien and not get lost. He hated housing developments, no matter what country they were in. They were either for people too uppity to live in cities or too poor to live anywhere else, and they were all alike. All internally consistent.

Damien slipped around a corner with Powell at his heels, and they reached a point where they could cut Sanchez off. He squatted, assessing the nail gun and looking around for other useful items. Powell watched him. “Are you sure about this?” he asked in a harsh whisper.

“He won’t stop,” Damien replied. “He won’t ever stop. As long as Blake Dexter breathes, Sanchez will follow orders. He’s not like 47, but he doesn’t need to be. He’s just big.”

Powell looked at him, knowing that if he missed, he was as good as dead. “Do you need me to call Ian?”

“Hang on. I want to see if this can be done first.”

“You only get one shot.”

“I know.” Damien looked at him, and Powell’s eyes widened a little. The kid looked terrified, and frankly Powell couldn’t blame him in the slightest.

“Well, good luck,” he said, and he shrunk back into the shadows to let Damien work.

Damien nodded to him and then settled into his stance, taking a deep breath and focusing on the street. Powell listened, perhaps suspecting he could hear the giant’s footsteps from some distance off, but he wasn’t quite sure how true that was. He took a deep breath, trying to put some faith in the fact that Damien would know when to strike.


	72. 2016: Escape Into The Tunnels

Ian took a few steps forward, sauntering a little and acting cocky though he didn’t quite feel it himself. “Now, the way I understand this whole mess is you, recruited Ben, recruited us, recruited these two,” he said, pointing to Greenwood; Ben; Ian, Riley, and Abigail; and then Katia and 47. “Yet here you are with armed troops and big guns. Why?”

“Security,” Greenwood replied in an easy, relaxed way.

Ian scoffed a little. “Right. Security.”

“There a problem?”

“There’s a big problem. Three men with M16s is a huge overreaction to a group of largely unarmed civilians with two .45s between them.” He held his hands out a little and frowned. “What, your wife made you leave the tank at home?”

Greenwood stepped forward, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. “From what I’ve heard, this is actually more necessary than you’re trying to lead me to believe.” His eyes slid over Ian’s shoulder, where 47 cocked his head ever so slightly, and Katia tilted her head downward, narrowing her eyes.

“They’re not the invaders here,” Ian replied easily. “You’re the one tromping through this place with heavily armed guards.”

Greenwood shifted a little, still regarding Ian. “They’re here for my personal security.”

“That’s what Secret Service is for,” Ian replied, almost before Greenwood could finish. “I imagine they’re not too far behind you by now, unless you’ve managed to give them the slip. I honestly didn’t think you were that clever, to tell the truth. Clever enough to run for office, absolutely, but…” He shrugged a little, his hands loosely clasped in front of him.

Greenwood shook his head. “I don’t trust the Secret Service,” he said simply. “Care to tell me where your friends went?” Ian glanced behind him, but the armed men were already closing in on the hatch, which had been opened while he was distracting Greenwood, so the others could disappear inside the remains of the asylum basement. Ian ran toward it, sliding and kicking snow into the hole, a fair chunk of it landing on 47’s face. He huffed a little as Ian descended the ladder, but made no other noise.

Greenwood started shouting, and Ian yanked the hatch shut just before the men opened fire on them. “Now what?!” Ben asked over the din.

“This way!” 47 replied, leading the group down the hall. “Katia, engage the security protocol.”

“There’s a security protocol?” Shaw asked.

“Shush!” Katia responded, feeling the wall for a keypad, which she found next to a pipeline. She wiped the screen off and pressed her thumb onto it, and, surprisingly, the screen flashed and prompted her to enter a PIN number. It could be one of two things, and her eye caught the back of 47’s head, where his own number was proudly on display. The first half was the same, for all of them. Katia entered 0509, and the machine gave an approving beep.

“That still works?”

“A Russian mind with American technology, what do you think?” 47 replied sardonically. They walked down the hall, following 47’s lead.

“What’re we looking for?” Riley asked.

“Us,” 47 offered.

“Not us, specifically,” Katia said, picking up from where he’d left off.

“We’re operating on the theory that the former president wants to know how to make an Agent,” Ben said.

“So now what?” Riley asked.

“We figure out how to stop him,” 47 said.


	73. 2016: Underground

Greenwood sighed, watching that ugly British bastard disappear into the hatch. The men closed in, first firing on it and then trying to break it open. “Locked!” one of them said.

“Stand down,” Greenwood said, sighing again and rubbing his face and hair. He took a deep breath and looked around. “Scan the area. Look for other hostiles.” He received a ‘Yes, sir’ in response, and the men fanned out in three different directions. He watched one of them for a few moments before walking over to the hatch and examining it. That slippery fuck had just gone down it, and somehow it still locked. It was decades old; everything in that bunker was bound to be defunct anyway, including the ancient security system. “How?”

***

Damian took deep, silent breaths while he watched and listened to Sanchez’s movements. Powell was behind him, ready to act as backup if necessary. He prayed it wouldn’t be. He made one final check of the nail gun and then waited in the shadows, knowing the element of surprise would be key to his survival. Sanchez approached, and Damian tensed, settling into his stance and taking another deep breath, bracing himself.

Powell looked on as two trunk legs emerged in front of the alley, and he couldn’t help but look up at the entire barrel-chested man with lumbering limbs and slow steps. Damian slid into position and raised the nail gun, firing when Sanchez was perfectly framed by the alley. The nail hit him just above the ear, and Sanchez cried out and stumbled to the side, his hands on his head. Damian waited until Sanchez had collapsed, and then he ran out into the street, firing nails into his head and neck until he was almost out of nails. He tossed the gun aside and ran back into the alley, grabbing Powell by the wrist and taking off. “Now you can call Ian!” he said over his shoulder.

***

Riley looked around at the seeming miles of empty, desiccated lab rooms and broken glass and dust. He could swear something moaned and creaked in the distance behind them, and he jumped a little at the sound. Katia looked at him. “You alright?” she asked.

“Did you hear that?” he replied in a harsh whisper.

“Yes,” she said simply.

“What, no…no excuses, like, ‘it’s just the place settling’?”

“This place has had years to settle.”

“OK. Fair point.” Riley nodded and continued scanning the abandoned rooms they walked past. One of them clearly used to be stark white, and a line of reclined stretchers all joined together, with broken wheels between them that looked like they contained thick vials or bottles of something. Riley didn’t want to know.

Katia had followed his gaze. She didn’t remember the room, but it looked like something she would’ve passed when carried by her mother to her father while he was at work. She looked around, spotting the room where the clones had been tattooed, and a room she did remember where a clone had to have a medical procedure done. She pictured her father there, her mother and her younger self and the armed guards, the room cleaned up and sterilized. There was an Agent in the bed, a young one, a few years older than her, but she knew it wasn’t 47. She remembered wondering if the boy was sick, but her father wouldn’t answer her. He was scared that she and her mother were there at all.

Katia didn’t remember this room, she realized. She was thinking of the room across the hall, which, when she looked, was covered in dust, abandoned tubes, broken glass, and bits of cardboard. “Man, times have changed,” she said quietly. Riley and Ben hummed, looking at her, but by then she had looked away from the room entirely.

Shaw and 47 scanned the hallway. There was another strange groan, as if metal were bending slowly under some weight. Shaw flinched a little. “This place is creepy,” Shaw remarked.

“It wasn’t much better when it was operational,” 47 replied.

Katia looked at him. He glanced back at her, and she looked away. She didn’t want to know.

“You…you said those sounds _weren’t_ the building settling?” Riley asked. Katia nodded. “O-OK. So…what are they?”

Katia stopped. “Great fucking question.” The group paused around her and fell into total silence. 47 turned and regarded Katia, quirking an eyebrow. Katia listened intently to the walls around them. She heard the soft skittering about of rats that had made small corners of this place their home, but there was no other noise.

“Maybe it was the building settling,” Ben said after a moment. Then the groaning sound came again, and Katia jumped, realizing it was the old doors moving into place. She turned and stared into the darkness at the end of the hall.

Riley hid behind Jackie. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Someone got here before we did,” 47 said, stepping up to Katia. 

“What does that mean, someone got here before we did?” Riley asked.

“It means we’re fucked,” Katia replied, before 47 could shush them. He glanced at her, but said nothing, palming her a Siverballer instead.

“Footsteps?” he asked. She paused a moment, before shaking her head. He quirked an eyebrow in response. “This floor was designed so that none of us could sneak around.”

“Maybe they’re waiting?” Riley asked timidly. Katia glanced at him, and then at 47. Riley let himself think for a moment that he actually had a point instead of spouting random nonsense to fill the silence and do something about the creepy atmosphere of the desiccated basement.

“Katia,” 47 said after a moment, so softly the others could barely hear him. “Take the others, find Litvenko’s offices.” She nodded and slid through the group to the front, gesturing for them to come with her. 47 remained in his place.


	74. 2007: The Seeds Of The Howe Uprising

“Say that again?” Nicole couldn’t help but ask. Elena looked up, noticing that she broke her usual composure. Something was wrong.

“Gates has been captured by a company we’re certain is named Verax. They’ve got close ties with the United States government, and I haven’t been able to reach the President. Sadusky is of no help, either,” Ian replied. “Call me crazy, or call it a hunch, but I think this has something to do with Ensign, too.”

Nicole looked up, realizing something at once. “Stay where you are. We’re flying in.”

“Excuse me? Are…are you sure that’s safe?”

“Ian, trust me, something is very wrong. We need to be there. _Allez,_ Elena.” Elena stood and followed her out of the room. Nicole nodded to a surly-looking gentleman, and he nodded back and slipped out the front door to fetch a car. “Are you with me still?”

“Yeah, I am,” he said hesitantly. “Are you sure about this?”

_I just told you…_ “Yes.”

“OK.”

***

Ian sat up that night, listening to the crunch of tires and gravel as the SUV pulled up. He glanced at his watch, confirming that the time frame was right for Powell and Victor, returning from the airport with Nicole and Elena, and he stood and went to the door. Victor greeted him with a laugh and shook his hand, and Powell gestured for Nicole and Elena to enter. Nicole greeted Ian with a hug. “How was your flight?” he asked.

“Boring,” she replied.

“Oh, better than eventful, I suppose,” he quipped, and she pulled away. “This way.” He led them into his office, with his guys taking up the rear. “Is this about your matter with Ensign?” he asked, taking a seat and inviting them to do so as well. Elena elected to stand, taking up a position behind Nicole and mirroring Shaw almost exactly.

“In a word, yes,” Nicole began. “We think your matter with your friend and our matter with our friend are connected.”

Ian hummed. “No idea how?”

“We’re working on it,” Elena replied somewhat gruffly, with a shrug. Ian nodded again.

“We think it was a power play; Ensign seems to want us to know that it could track our movements whenever it likes,” Nicole replied, and she removed a file from her bag and handed it to Ian.

Ian frowned a little as he studied the file. “Someone as powerful as this group surely knows about our various ties with each other, so why bother playing this game?”

“To toy with us?” Elena offered with a shrug. “To demonstrate power?”

Ian glanced up at her. “As if to say, ‘don’t mess with us, we can have access to everything about you if we want, and we can do more’?” Elena nodded.

“Sounds about right.”

“Why us?” Nicole asked. “Far as I can tell we have no connection with this…Ensign, or Verax, or so forth. We’ve nothing to do with the bastards.”

“Far as I can see it doesn’t much matter,” Ian replied, returning his attention to the files. “They seem to want to meddle in any organization that looks powerful enough to pose a significant threat.”

“They should stop!” Elena said at once, and Nicole raised a hand to stop her from getting to out of hand.

“Any way we can get them to back off?” Nicole asked.

Ian shrugged. “No idea. Unless they’re willing to negotiate.”

Nicole and Elena looked up at him. “Negotiate?” Nicole asked. She scoffed a little. “Frankly I think that’s impossible.”

“How so?”

“We can’t give them something they want that they don’t already have, and whatever we can offer pales in comparison to what they can do and afford. The only thing we can bring to the table are demands.”

Ian frowned a little, but Nicole was right. Negotiations would be a challenge, to say the least. “We need another way,” he said, closing the file and passing it back to Nicole. She glanced at Elena, who merely nodded somewhat blankly. She glanced at Shaw, who had a similar expression.

“Blackmail,” Phil said, attracting the attention of everyone in the room. “Think about it,” he continued. “We say something like…they’re monkeying around with something they shouldn’t, we throw our weight around. We cocked up their thing with Octagon, right? And that’s just us.”

Ian hummed. “I think you’re onto something, McGregor,” he said.

“I am?”

“Yeah. They know that not only can we counter them, we can deliver killing blows of our own. If I were the head of an organization like that, I’d be edging close to shitting myself.” The guys looked at each other, and Ian looked at Nicole. “How much do you have?”

“Plenty, thanks to Jackie. We can flex a little muscle and get something, as far as Ben is concerned.” Ian nodded.

“Find someone, and ask to speak to Ensign’s leaders, if at all possible, or a representative with some power. Sell us a little.” He smirked a little, and Nicole smiled back.

***

Within the week Nicole and Elena, both dressed in their best, were walking into a pristine, minimalist glass-paneled lobby. The receptionist and two guards looked up at them. “We’ve got an appointment,” Nicole explained. “At ten-thirty with a Mr. Tomlin?”

“Yes, here it is,” she said after a moment of rifling through index card. “I’ll let his assistant know you’re here.”

“ _Merci._ ” While the receptionist placed the call, Nicole turned to Elena. “ _Tu l'as eu?_ ”

“ _Oui,_ ” Elena replied with a slight nod.

“ _Bien. Allons-y._ ”

The receptionist hung up and said, pointing down a hallway. “His office is just down that hall, at the very end.”

“ _Merci,_ ” Nicole said again, and she and Elena started walking, heels clacking on the fake marble floor. They reached the office, the door to which had been propped open slightly by his assistant, a young woman with her hair and clothes pulled straight from the late fifties, as if she were trying too hard to meet a standard of “glamorous” that had since been very outdated. She was busy typing away, and looked up at them with a slight start. “Yes, he’s expecting you,” she said after a moment, indicating another door that was also propped open. Nicole and Elena filed through and, as a show of fake deference, stood waiting, hands loosely clasped in front of them, behind the two guest chairs he kept in his mahogany-paneled office space.

It was a jarring change of scenery from the rest of the building, all wood and posh leather office chairs and books, even a spinning globe that opened along the equator to reveal, presumably, a whiskey store. The main chair was facing away from them, and after several moments it turned to face them, as Mr. Tomlin leaned across the desk to hang up his phone. “Ms. Howe, Ms. Lereaux,” he said, leaning his elbows on the desk and folding his hands in front of him. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to the chairs, and Nicole and Elena took their seats. “So, how may I help you today?”


	75. 2016: Cornered

Katia rounded a corner, her feet skidding on the hard linoleum floor as she held onto the wall to steady herself. Jackie, Riley, Shaw, Ian, Ben, and Abigail chased after her. “What’s going on?” Abigail asked.

“I don’t really know!” Katia replied. “Someone’s here, though, and something has gone very pear-shaped.”

“Pear-shaped how?” Riley demanded.

“No idea!”

They continued to run, until they reached the end of a long hallway, and Katia wiped off the biometric reading screen before jamming her thumb over the surface. When the device was not immediately responsive, she gave it a solid slap before hearing it whir into life. She lay her thumb over the screen, and it beeped approvingly, and the locks on the door slid out of their places. She leaned heavily on the door, shoving the heavy door open with a heavy creaking sound. The others rushed inside, and Katia leaned on the door again, shoving it back into place. The locks slid home, and she leaned against the door, breathing heavily.

“Now what?” Ben asked, taking a step toward her and resting his hands on his hips.

“We’re safe here,” Katia said in a raspy voice after a moment, looking at him.

“You sure?” Riley asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. This is one of the most secure rooms in the whole asylum, second only to Dr. Ort-Meyer’s office.”

“Who?” Ben asked.

“It’s complicated, I’ll explain later.” She stepped back from the door, her eyes fixed on it.

“You…you OK?”

She glanced at him, dimly surprised. “I didn’t think you asked people that sort of thing.”

“He does get obsessive, I agree,” Abigail said, nodding.

“So what do we do now?” Riley asked.

“Far as I can tell, wait.”

“Is he gonna be OK?”

“It’s 47, I’m pretty sure he will be.”

“Pretty sure.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t need to be indestructible. He’s superb.”

“If you say so.”

Katia nodded somewhat vaguely and started looking about the room, taking in every dusty, out-of-place detail. It was hard to believe she was here, of all places, after all this time. Her father’s old office. “Wow,” she mouthed.

***

47 adjusted his grip on the pistols, holding them at the ready as he watched the shadows. Something moved deep within them, barely perceptible there but there for sure. He took a deep breath to steady himself and regarded the figure in the darkness. It appeared to approach him, and he aimed his pistols at the figure. As it drew closer, he could see the crisp lines separating it from the rest of the darkness. He detected parts that were lighter than others: a white shirt, matching his own, and the highlights of a face and head.

He frowned. _Another one?_

He lowered one gun and aimed the other at the head, firing twice. The figure dodged, and then in a flash darted toward him, knocking him back. 47 hit the ground with a grunt. One gun skittered across the floor. The figure leaned on top of him, kneeling and pulling his fist back to strike him. 47 kicked him in the head and shot again, aiming for the chest. The bullet struck the attacker in the chest, and he pushed himself back and shot again. The round struck him dead center, but there was no blood.

_Hmm, protected,_ he thought, pushing himself back even further and scrambled to his feet. His attacker lunged at him, but before 47 could fire again, he was knocked back once more. His other pistol clattered to the floor. He kicked his attacker where his bullet struck him in the shoulder, causing him to inadvertently cry out in pain. 47 again scrambled to his feet and settled into a stance, ready to fight the man to the death if necessary.

The attacker lunged at him, and when he got close enough 47 realized, to his detriment, that this individual was a clone of him. While he was distracted, the individual shoved him back and landed a few blows before 47 thought to block and counterstrike. The clone was fast, and it was all 47 could do to keep up with him. _Block, counterstrike, block, counterstrike…_

The clone gradually began to regain his initial advantage, overpowering him and backing him into a literal and metaphorical corner. 47 allowed it, momentarily recalling his last battle with John Smith. He spotted a corroded tube with a faded label for poisonous gas out of the corner of his vision, and continued to subtly guide his assailant into position, letting him think he was winning. As an increasingly rare counterstrike in his struggle against his attacker, he swung his elbow across the man’s temple, driving his head into the corroded canister and rupturing a pipe. There was a low hiss, and 47 edged away, gaining distance from the gas in case it was still dangerous. It still had some of its effect, as it made his attacker somewhat groggy, but for the most part it seemed to have degraded beyond the point of efficacy.

He edged forward, holding an arm over his mouth and nose and pulling his mouth and nose. With his free hand, he started pulling the semi-conscious man out of the range of the gas, to the safe distance he had occupied moments earlier. He bent down near the man’s head and wrapped his arms around the lower half of his face, snapping his neck in one swift movement. The man went limp then, his head tilted at an awkward angle. 47 rummaged through the pockets in the man’s suit, finding an ID card and not much else. He took the card and retreated down the hall.

***

Powell couldn’t begin to hope to get a good grip on his phone until he and Damien were back in the car, and Damien was driving off away from the housing development. He pressed a button on his speed-dial and waited while it rang, once, twice, three times.

“Hello?” Ian asked.

“It’s me,” Powell said. “I’ve got your kid. We went on a bit of an adventure.”

“Yeah?”

“Sanchez is dead,” Damien said, so Ian could hear.

“Is that right?”

“Right as rain,” Powell replied. “Your kid’s a slippery fish.”

Ian laughed. “Good for him. You’re alright, yeah? You’re both alright?”

“Yeah. We’re good.” He scanned the road. “Hey, were are you.”

Ian hummed a bit, and Powell could imagine him cocking his head about. “Somewhere in West Virginia,” he said.

“What the hell’s in West Virginia?”

“Our treasure. Or whatever the hell this place is.”

“What’s goin’ on, are you alright?”

“We’re fine, don’t worry.”

“Way you sound tells me something’s _not_ fine.”

Ian sighed. “Someone else is here, we think.”

_Yep, big problem,_ Powell observed. “Where d’you need us?”

Ian paused, and Powell was about ninety percent sure he was looking around the room. “There’s a clearing in a deserted forest where a bedlam house used to stand. That’s where we are. I’m told there’s possibly backup in the forest, but there’s still the chance this all goes to shit, and we all need all the help we can get.”

“Aight.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Powell hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket. “We should probably pick up the others,” Damien said, attracting Powell’s attention.

“Yeah, we should,” he replied.


	76. 2007: The Office

Tomlin regarded the two women after they presented their case. They spoke as though they had expected him to bend, which impressed him on one level. Then he looked at the file full of their evidence. He looked at them once more, raising an eyebrow. “How did you get this?” he asked.

“None of your concern,” Nicole replied coolly.

“It is my concern. You can’t show up at my office and make demands with a crude attempt at blackmail.”

“That’s why I brought Elena.” Elena pulled a pair of yellow-handled pliers from her back pocket.

“And what are those for?”

“Your finger and toenails,” Nicole said. “If you refuse to cooperate, you will suffer the consequences.”

“So you come into my office, attempt to blackmail me, threaten me, all for some historian?”

“Want us to kidnap you, too?” Elena asked. Nicole held up a hand to stop her.

“You think Ian and I are isolated entities, and we’re not,” she said. “Angering one, incurs the wrath of the other. It’s as simple as that.”

“What, you expect me to bend over and take it?”

“We could force you, if you like.”

“Can’t take no for an answer, can you?”

“Actually, no,” Nicole admitted. “And we never intended to.” As if on cue, Elena stood and walked around the desk. Tomlin’s demeanor dropped, and he looked frantically between them. She grabbed his wrist and held it to the armrest of the office chair; the pliers were in her other hand, and a sadistic gleam in her eye that carried over to her light smile. Tomlin froze, realizing that they were both serious, and had no fear of death, most certainly by his hands.

He looked at Nicole, who shifted slightly and leaned back in the chair, as if settling into her own office rather than being a guest in his. She leaned on one armrest and folded her hands together, regarding Tomlin. “We may begin, unless you’re willing to compromise.” Tomlin stared at her for several long moments, his heart pounding out of his chest.

“OK!” he said finally. “OK! OK, OK.” Elena straightened, letting his hand go but standing next to him, pliers still visible. “What do you want?”

“Dr. Gates is not a traitor,” Nicole said simply, bluntly. “Whatever crimes he’s committed, none of them are treason. Remember that, and remind Senator Gorman of the fact.” She shifted so that she was more comfortable. “Secondly, I would like to remind you that, should you comply with the first point, the sleeping dragon that dominates Western Europe remains such. Otherwise, you’ve poked it awake. And it doesn’t like to be waked.” Tomlin merely nodded, and Nicole cocked her eyebrows.

“Noted,” he said, straightening and struggling to regain his composure. Elena stepped back, and Nicole straightened in the chair.

“Now that we understand each other,” she said, gathering up the files, “thank you for your time.” She stood, and Elena fell in behind her as they walked out of his office. He stared after them for a long moment, breathing heavily and feeling his heart race the Kentucky Derby. He didn’t even try to get it under control, only masking it to the best of his ability as he reached for the phone.


	77. 2016: Steel

47 navigated the halls by memory, trying to avoid thinking about barracks or weapons or guards or that creepy instructor. Dust and miniscule remnants of glass crunched under his shoes, reminding him of the swish of lab scrubs, issued to all the kids, and the lab coats worn by the scientists. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

The keypad to Dr. Litvenko’s old lab had been freshly cleaned, which meant at least Katia had gotten this far. He rapped on the door, and heard a rapping sound in response before the internal locks were undone. The door slid open, revealing Katia, smiling at him, and the others, standing in something of a cluster behind her. He nodded to Katia and stepped inside, warily scanning the office, as a force of habit. Katia closed the door behind him as a safety measure.

“H-how is it out there?” Riley asked, somewhat uncertain. 47 assessed him, determining him to be a man who, while no stranger to life-threatening situations, preferred to avoid them if at all possible.

“The gas in the lines is degraded,” he said simply. “It’s no longer as dangerous as it was.”

“Something here fell to the test of time,” Katia remarked dryly.

“That’s…good, right?” Riley said.

“For us, and for them.”

“Them?” Abigail asked, cocking her head. 47 held up a keycard in response, and she merely nodded.

“So…where are they?” Riley asked.

“We don’t know. Which is the problem.”

“What do we do?” Katia asked, taking a few steps toward him.

47 turned toward her, regarding her. He still looked expressionless, but Katia could somehow tell he was testing her. “What do we do?” he asked, parroting her question. Katia straightened, blinked her eyes a few times, and thought briefly.

“We can’t stay locked in the office forever,” she said, somewhat slowly. “We’ve got to keep moving. We need to find whomever these individuals are, and where they’re hiding.”

“What?!” Riley demanded. Ian shushed him, and when Riley looked at him and at Jackie, Jackie backed her cousin on the matter by saying nothing.

“What, you want to be boxed up in here forever?” Katia challenged. Riley fell silent. Katia nodded, accepting this, and turned back to the door, slowly and methodically unlocking it from the inside. 47 stepped up to her side, his guns at the ready in case someone was waiting on the other side of that door. There was no one, only a long, eerily quiet corridor. They stepped out, and Katia gestured for the others to follow.

As a cluster, they all made their way through the deserted corridors of the old asylum basement. Riley moved to the center of the cluster, along with Jackie. Ben and Abigail were behind them, and Ian and Shaw brought up a tight rear, watching for anyone who might have been following them. So far, the halls were filled only with the sound of dust and glass crunching under shoes.

***

“Hostiles approaching, sir,” Decker said into Paul Bolton’s radio.

“Confirmed,” came another voice, belonging to Jake Gallagher. “Hostile approaching.”

“Don’t make any noise, either of you,” Paul said into his radio. He returned his hand to his automatic rifle and peered through the forest at Greenwood, pacing around the clearing. He realized he could take the shot, eliminate Greenwood, but that wasn’t his job, and he was not a highly trained sniper. If he missed, Greenwood would know he was being watched. Better to keep the secret for now.

Soft flashes of movement elsewhere in the forest indicated that Greenwood’s Verax security force was being incapacitated by task forcers and carried off to be hidden. Paul glanced at Greenwood, who appeared not to notice. “You’re clear,” he said into the radio. He knew Greenwood would notice eventually, when his security team failed to return, but his team had bought 47, Katia, and the others they were with a great deal of time.

“Next move, sir?” another of his guys asked.

“Just wait and keep eyes on him,” Bolton replied. “Remember, no stupid shit. That’s 47 on the ground.”

“Yes, sir.”

Paul sighed a little and leaned against the tree, once more returning his hand to the butt of his automatic. He chewed his lips a little and sighed, then freed one of his hands and pulled out his phone to call Diana.

She answered three rings later. “Burnwood.”

“It’s Bolton,” he replied. “47’s occupied at the moment but when he comes back what do you want? Do you want him brought in?”

There was a long pause, and Paul realized there was a personal conflict going on inside Diana’s head. He didn’t press. “No,” she finally said. “If he wants to come back, he’ll do it on his own. Otherwise, he cannot be forced.”

“Understood.”

“Good.”

“How long do we mind him for?”

“As long as necessary, or until we pull you back in.”

“Roger.” He hung up and slipped his phone back into its pocket. All he could do now was wait, it seemed.

***

Katia scanned the corridor in front of them, which was somewhat less littered with dirt and pulverized glass. Here there were almost no windows, and whatever windows she could find were considerably more intact than other windows throughout the underground facility. Nothing came up in her mind about this wing of the place, and frankly she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She decided the less she knew, the better.

She glanced at 47, who observed the place as if he observed everywhere else, looking for structural weaknesses, hiding places, enemies…. There was something hard and forceful behind this expression, as if something tormented him. Something about this place, Katia surmised. That was the true culprit. She didn’t dare bring up the point, however; she could discuss it later after all the dust had settled.

A particularly large piece of glass crunched under her food, exaggerating the already present cracks. It slid somewhat over a layer of dust and dirt, and then all was quiet again. Riley huddled closer to Jackie in response, and to Katia it seemed no one could blame him. _This place is fucking creepy._ They continued walking down the corridor, checking around various doors that weren’t rusted shut, but they found all the rooms just as empty and dirty as the corridor they were in. Which was to say, besides them and the potential for another attacker or two, there was no one else there.

“Um…how do we find them?” Riley asked.

“Good question,” Katia replied, as they reached a dead end hallway. There used to be something beyond, by the looks of it, but it had been sealed in with concrete at some point. Katia and 47 threaded through to the back of the group, and Ian and Shaw to the front. As a unit, the group turned around.

Katia took a deep breath, scanning a new corner before they rounded it, and before 47 registered anything at all, she held up a hand to stop him. “Another one?” Riley asked. Katia shushed him, but the individual she had barely glimpsed had turned and started advancing on them. “Shaw, keep the others out of there,” she said, and she and 47 rounded the corner, advancing on the individual.

47 palmed her a pistol. “Shoot on sight,” he said. Katia had already taken aim by them. She glanced briefly at 47, registering a hint of recognition. She fired, striking him first in the shoulder. There was another shot, and the bald, suited figure advancing on them dropped to one knee. Katia advanced, the pistol pointed directly at the individual’s head. He looked up at her, looking almost like he wanted to plead with her for his life. Then, he shot up, grabbing her wrist as if to wrench the pistol out of her hands and move in for the kill, but he didn’t get the chance. Two shots rang out, and his blood and brains sprayed out all over the dusty, glass-covered hall. He fell, eyes open and glassy, dead inside and out, and Katia took a few deep breaths and lowered the gun.

47 glanced at her, and she looked back and nodded briefly before turning her attention to the corridor beyond. “How many more?” she asked. He glanced at her. “How many more clones?”

“I don’t know,” he said, falling into step beside her as they walked down the corridor.

“That’s not good news.”

“I know it isn’t.”

“What do we do?”

He looked at her again, knowing she was only asking because she lacked information and knew it, rather than believed she didn’t have the ability to plan for herself. “I don’t know,” he said again. “I only hope we keep finding them. Maybe they’ll lead us to their creators.”

“Better idea than I could’ve come up with,” she said.

“I know you’d have thought the same way, after the fear and uncertainty.”

“I’m sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere, so thanks.”

They fell silent again as they walked down the hall, toward whatever lay at the end. It was probably bad, or so Katia figured. She kept the gun at the ready as they walked, and after some time 47 reached out and touched the wall, then stopped. Katia looked at him. “Feel it,” he said. She reached out to touch the wall next to her.

“Steel,” she said.

“Every wall in the old facility was concrete.”

“We found them.”

“Almost.”

“Almost?” asked a voice behind them, and Katia and 47 looked around at Riley. “You mean we have to keep going?!” Jackie rested a hand on his wrist to keep him from panicking, and Katia’s eyes moved to Shaw, holding his own gun ready, and Ian safely positioned behind him. Ben and Abigail were in the back.

“What’re you doing here?” 47 asked them.

“We can’t exactly turn back,” Shaw replied. “Remember Greenwood’s out there, and his security guys from Verax.”

“And the task force isn’t there?” The question was pointed, and Katia wondered if this was the closest he ever got to angry, biting sarcasm.

“Even so, it’ll be a huge fire fight. We’re not capable of fighting a fire fight.”

“I know I’m not,” Riley added. Shaw glanced at him briefly before returning his attention to 47 and Katia.

“He’s got a point,” Katia said to her brother. “Besides, we lose any potential advantage if we give up.”

He looked at her and nodded. “Alright,” he said. They turned back to the darkness in the corridor and started off again, shoes clanking against steel.


	78. 2007: What Is The Purpose

Agent Sadusky walked down the hall, Ben’s case file tucked under his arm, and stepped into the interrogation room where Ben waited. “No lawyer?” he asked, somewhat jokingly. Ben looked up and managed a smirk in response. Sadusky sat down in the chair opposite him and set the file down between them. “The state has agreed to drop most of the charges against you, on the condition you get locked up for a minimum of ten years,” he said. “The President is distancing himself from the case for fear of kamikaze-ing his political future.”

“When’s he gonna realize he’s making a mistake?” Ben asked. If he were to tell the truth, he secretly hoped the President would help him out a little.

“I don’t know, but for now, since we’re coming into an election year, he’s tabled that discussion.”

“OK.”

“Your friend Mr. Howe has offered legal and financial assistance.”

“Of course he has.”

“Not gonna take it?”

“I…don’t know yet.”

Sadusky frowned a bit and then looked at Ben. “Do you know why most of the charges against you are being dropped?”

“I could guess.”

“What’s your guess?”

“Ian, or one of his affiliates, found a way to blackmail Verax, or one of their affiliates, into backing down.”

Sadusky nodded. “Interesting theory.”

“Ian has nearly unlimited resources. And he’s smart.” Sadusky nodded again.

“What’re you gonna do? Your trial starts next week and it’s gonna be all over the news.”

“I don’t want that,” Ben said, shaking his head.

“I’m afraid you can’t help that. So many people in this nation want to see you fall, no matter how much they insist otherwise.”

“Do your best?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Ben nodded. “Thanks.”

“You can always plead out.”

Ben bit his lip slightly, regarding Sadusky. “Do me a favor,” he said finally. “When I’m locked up, make sure Ian, and Abigail and Riley, and Jackie, make sure they know the truth and tell them…don’t give up. Keep looking, and keep me posted. And I would like a 1988 copy of the King James Bible.”

“…Got religion all of a sudden?”

“No. But make sure they know that, too.”

Sadusky smiled a little, knowing Ben was up to something. He knew he was dealing with a man who didn’t give up easily, even if it appeared that way on the outside. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

***

“Thank you,” Ian said, and he hung up before walking into the main room of the Watergate Hotel suite he rented for his crew while Ben sorted out his legal matters. That was, plainly, the kindest way Ian knew how to put it. “A partner in my sister’s firm is willing to represent Ben, provided Ben is willing to go for it,” he said to his crew.

“And if he doesn’t?” Shaw asked.

Ian shrugged. “No skin off anyone’s nose, but hopefully Ben will know what’s good for him.” He took a seat next to Shaw, who gently bumped into him and smiled. Ian smiled at him.

“He’ll do what he thinks is best.”

“I know he will, love.”

“What do we do next?” Victor asked, and Ian and Shaw looked at him.

“We wait for the chips to fall as they may, and, well…I don’t know. Return to London and lie in wait I suppose.” Victor looked at Powell next to him and shrugged, as if this were amenable to him. Ian glanced at Shaw, who merely regarded him impassively.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly after a few moments.

“I’m…not sure. I never wanted this for Ben, and while I get why he had me locked up, I don’t see the purpose to this at all.”

“Purpose of what?”

“Locking Ben up for a while. What do they want? I don’t understand.” Shaw could only look at him and watch him think, because honestly he couldn’t begin to answer, and didn’t have the slightest clue. Except…

“To get him out of the way?” he asked.

Ian looked at him. “Of course,” he said. “Why else would a powerful entity imprison anyone but to keep them out of the way? But for what?”

That, Shaw didn’t know. This time he didn’t dare to hazard a guess, but Ian had stood and started pacing. He was definitely working on something in that brilliant head of his. Shaw couldn’t help but stare a little.


	79. 2016: Into The Den Of The Lion

“So this steel part is the new stuff, right?” Riley asked after several moments of walking in silence.

“Yes,” 47 replied, in a tone suggesting he desired total silence. Riley was, in principle, against silence in creepy places, but he was even more against pissing off a legendary assassin who had, for reasons he didn’t understand, presently allowed him to live. Almost absentmindedly, he reached out for Jackie’s hand, lacing their fingers together. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, keeping her gaze fixed on the darkened corridor in front of them, studying the shadows in case anything stepped out of them to try to kill their merry band.

Finally they reached a T-intersection and paused. Katia and 47 looked at each other, and then 47 turned to face the rest of the group. “We’re dividing into groups?” Riley asked uncertainly.

“Ian, Shaw, stay here and keep watch,” Katia said. “Jackie, Riley, with me, and Ben and Abigail with 47. There’s no reception down here, so haul ass in a random direction if something happens.”

“Like if we get caught and killed?”

“If you can manage it.”

47 glanced at her, and then at the group. “Alright,” he said, and he started down the right hallway. Ben and Abigail stepped through the crowd to follow him. Katia turned down the left hallway, Jackie and Riley walking hand in hand behind her. Ian and Shaw turned to face the corridor they had just walked down, and Shaw settled in on his knees, as if preparing for a shootout. Ian sat behind him, cross-legged, and rested a hand on the small of his back.

***

“So…what are we looking for?” Jackie asked Katia.

“The game’s changed,” Katia replied. “At first, I’d guess the ‘treasure’ of sorts was a compound or a set of files, something related to the creation of Agents. Now, well, there’s a new set of rules.”

“…What are we looking for now?”

“My guess? Kryton Technologies.”

“Who?” Riley asked.

“Some biotech company,” Jackie replied, looking at him. “Along with Syndicate International they were really keen on getting their own engineered humans off the ground a while back.”

“Still are,” Katia said. “They also have Verax backing, which means success is guaranteed for them in this country.”

“Provided they can find you or your brother.”

“Provided.”

“So are we walking into a trap?” Riley asked. Jackie squeezed his hand to remind him not to freak out too much.

“Maybe,” Katia replied evenly. “But it’s a different state of affairs when you know you’re going to be trapped, and you walk in willingly.”

“Can we…not walk into the trap?”

“I’m working on it. That’s why I gave you instructions to run.”

“And leave you here?” Jackie asked. “I mean Riley’s free to run as much as he likes but I’m combat trained.” She didn’t mention that she suspected she was more trained than Katia was. That would probably come off as much too bitchy for a close-quarters encounter.

“I’m sure they are, too,” Katia replied simply. “But, two on however many is a lot better than one.” Jackie nodded.

Riley looked at her. “Are you seriously gonna try to fight them?”

“If I have to,” Jackie replied.

“Then if you die I wanna see it.”

“It’s not safe, Riley. I need you to be OK.”

“Same here,” he replied, with a slightly more forceful tone than she expected of him. She looked at him, for a moment very surprised. Then she smiled a little.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“OK.”

***

Ben and Abigail glanced at each other before he returned to studying the steel walls and she returned to studying their guide. She didn’t really feel…settled around the tall, bald, barcoded man. In fact, once she noticed the barcode, she couldn’t really look away, and when she was forced to, her eyes were always drawn back to it at the first available opportunity. It was just too weird.

But it was rude to bring it up.

He turned his head toward her ever so slightly, and she looked away, peering into the dark corridor beyond them. He soon returned his attention there, as well, and Abigail let out a wholly silent sigh of relief. She felt like she was in some kind of surrealist dream: genetically modified assassins, Russian scientists, spies on both sides, and all sorts of stuff that was only found in movies. Treasure was one thing, but she felt like she was in some kind of Cold War thriller, or a James Bond movie.

She looked at Ben. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied, pensively.

“It’s a lot.”

“I know that.”

“Doesn’t any of this strike you as…weird?”

Ben paused and looked at her. “Actually, yes,” he said softly. “This whole thing comes off as weird, and I don’t really know why. Ian asked me once, and I couldn’t answer him.”

“Asked you what?”

“Asked me why I have to find this thing, whatever it happens to be. Why I took this on.”

“You believed President Greenwood is a good, honorable man, and that he deserves your help,” Abigail said.

“That’s one way to look at it, yeah.”

“What’s another way to look at it?” 47 asked, convincing them both that he’d been watching them intently.

“I’m being played,” Ben replied simply. “Greenwood thinks that because I believe he is an honorable man, that I will listen to him and do what he says. He’s just another politician, and confusing loyalty to people in power, with loyalty to the nation at large. It’s really a common mistake made by dictators and other unsavory sorts regarding patriotism.”

“Do you look at it that way?”

“I think it’s somewhere in the middle. He’s a good man, and for reasons I don’t fully understand, asking me to find a bad thing.”

“So why are we doing this?” Abigail asked.

“I don’t know another way through this.”

“Sometimes there is none,” 47 said simply. Abigail watched them both for a moment before falling silent and staring at the corridor.

***

“What do we do when we find these guys?” Riley asked.

“Kill them,” Katia said simply. Riley opened his mouth to brink up their odds and how bad they were, but Katia stopped then, and held up her hand.


	80. 2016: The Catacombs

Jackie tensed and reached for Riley, feeling the atmosphere shift as she took in what Katia had stopped them for. Their corridor opened into a long, long hallway lined with tubes filled with a fluid of some sort. They were backlit so that they looked somewhat green, and in several of the tubes, Jackie could make out the forms of bald human forms. Some seemed incomplete, or young, but otherwise, they were identifiable. “New rules,” Riley said, taking a step back.

“You don’t know what’s back there,” Katia said to him, turning her head slightly. “For now, you’re safer here.”

“OK,” he said, taking a step toward Katia and Jackie. Katia stepped into this hallway, and Jackie urged Riley along after her, taking up the rear. Her hand instinctively moved to her hip, before she realized she wasn’t packing heat. To smooth this over, she rested her hands on her hips, hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans.

Katia scanned the rows of developing clones, feeling increasingly sick with each passing one. “How many are there?” Riley asked in hushed tones, as if he might wake them. Some of them were developed enough that that was a very real concern.

“By my count, approximately two hundred. Currently a little under two dozen are viable,” Katia replied.

“Counting the two thugs from earlier?” Jackie asked.

“No.”

Shit, Jackie thought, and she glanced at one of the containers, housing a beating heart, a cardiovascular system, a central nervous system, and not much else. She looked away sharply. _This place is getting creepier and creepier._

She wished they’d remembered or were able to bring the Good Luck Musket, as she’d called it. There was a rich family lore surrounding the musket, which boiled down to its original owner warning members of the family of impending danger, and carrying the musket itself seemed to, sometimes inexplicably, bring a favorable outcome, if held by a Howe and not anyone else. The musket itself no longer fired, and no one made ammo for it anymore, so really it was ornamental, but still people maintained it regularly. Currently the musket was in Ian’s care, and probably in the country house, as far as Jackie knew.

Riley reached a hand back, toward Jackie, and she looked at the thing his eyes were fixed on. It contained a more complete person, with a pair of unlidded eyes that appeared to stare blankly at them. Jackie pressed her hand on the small of his back and urged him forward, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the back of his neck. They just needed to get through this as fast as possible. They couldn’t linger on any of this nonsense that could give them nightmares.

Katia turned her head slightly and paused at the end of the corridor, amid the last few tubes of clones, listening intently to her surroundings. Jackie and Riley watched her intently, before she nodded and stepped into an annex that looked like a sort where one was detoxed to and from handling the clones in their tubes. Hazmat suits hung on one side in a neat row. The next door was locked with a keycard and a backup keypad lock. Katia reached up to fiddle with the keypad, and Jackie reached out a hand to stop her. “Careful,” she said softly, before bending over to study the pad itself. The numbers were still crisp and clearly visible, but there were subtle signs of wear on a few of the keys.

“You’ve done this before,” Katia observed, somewhat surprised.

“Plenty of times.” Jackie squatted and pressed the keys in what she deduced was the proper order. The lock beeped approvingly, and Katia pulled the door open. Jackie stood and followed her, with Riley limping slightly behind them. They passed into a lab full of computers whose sole task was monitoring each of the tubes carefully for any changes, and to alert people regardless of what kind of changes those were.

She stopped in front of the monitors, frowning at what it was outputting, before she moved to the other door at the opposite end of the computer room to the annex. This door opened with just a pull of the handle, leading the three of them into the corridor beyond. They were right back to stuffy air and concrete with slight dust or the illusion of dust everywhere. This corridor, however, was considerably shorter than the last one, and led them to what looked like an office from the window view outside. She frowned and studied the lock, but it required keycard access and biometrics. Thankfully, it appeared the office was empty. Katia continued on, Jackie and Riley behind her.

“What is this?” Riley asked.

“It looks like, instead of refurbishing the old facility, they built their own underground. Though there are no signs of disturbance on the surface, so this can’t be terribly new. This has been here for several years, at least,” Katia replied. “You need several years to get the labs up and running, and to get the clones growing and viable.” Her tone shifted, as if she were musing to herself.

“So you’re saying this has been going on for a long time, right under everyone’s noses,” Jackie said.

“This area has been non grata for quite some time. No one wants to go near this place, for a lot of obvious reasons. It’s easy to undertake even large projects unnoticed.”

“Plus Kryton is big enough to be able to pay off the government and the cops if they absolutely need to,” Riley added.

“This doesn’t surprise you?” Katia queried.

“Nope.”

“It’s kind of his thing,” Jackie explained to her. “Conspiracy theories, all that sort of stuff.”

“It’s not a conspiracy theory if it’s true,” Riley said.

“You might be paranoid, but that doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you,” Katia added with a smile.

***

47 held up a hand to stop Abigail and Ben as they reached the end of the corridor, marked by a single-hatch door. He reached forward, pulling it and finding it unlocked. “That’s weird,” Ben remarked, as 47 and Abigail passed through the door ahead of him, and he brought up the rear.

“No it isn’t,” 47 replied. “They’re not expecting us.”

“They’re not expecting anybody,” Ben replied. “We’re in the middle of nowhere in West Virginia, and almost nothing happens in West Virginia.”

Abigail and 47 said nothing as they walked into a cold room where one side was lined with file cabinets four cells tall, and the other side contained a table with centrifuges all in a neat row. “This is a general access room,” 47 said. “Some things need to be centrifuged cold.” He couldn’t say anything on the files, however, other than that it was perhaps an issue of space or that these were the general files that it wouldn’t hurt anyone to have access to.

“It feels like a meat cooler in here,” Abigail said, half to herself. 47 pulled the emergency lever and pushed open the opposite door to the one they had entered from. 

“That’s kinda the idea,” Ben replied. The three of them left the room, 47 holding the door for them before latching it closed and following about half a pace behind them as they entered another steel-lined corridor. One window in the wall revealed a dimly lit expansive lab, the function of which was unclear. There was another door on the other side of the hallway, but there was no window to indicate what this other room did. For all either of them knew it was a utility closet.

47 led them past both doors and around a corner. There was a door labeled “BARRACKS”, reminiscent of what 47 knew to be a similar door in the older section of the underground compound. _This must be where they keep the hatched ones,_ he thought. There was only a small window on the door that allowed him a view of the interior of the room, and when he glanced inside he found that it was empty. He counted twenty beds, of which it looked like seven were in use. _Where are the other five?_

Ben and Abigail continued down the hallway, so 47 stepped away and followed them. “What are we even looking for?” Abigail asked.

“I’m not sure,” 47 replied.

“The others, they’re alright?” Ben asked.

“Yes, provided they don’t find any hostiles. I doubt they will.”

“How?” Abigail asked.

“There were seven. Two are dead. So now there are five.”

“They could still be out there,” Ben protested.

“I’m sure they are. Guarding the important labs.” Ben stopped, realizing of all people, 47 would know definitively how a lab would deploy its clones. He was the current resident expert, and Ben fully realized how weird it felt to be displaced like this. Riley was probably on to something, regarding ‘knowing something about history that you don’t’.

“Are we looking for offices? The people who run this place?” Abigail asked, her mind running in a different direction than Ben’s.

“No.” 47 shook his head imperceptibly and turned a corner, them following close behind. He held up a hand to stop them then, and it was obvious why. Each door along the length of this hallway was flanked by guards dressed in white with visible side arms. He slowly reached for his own pistol and tensed his fingers around the grip.

“We’re...not supposed to here,” she said imperceptibly to Ben as they backed away slowly.

“We need to find Ian?” he asked just as softly, looking at her and frowning. Abigail shrugged, with an expression that screamed, ‘I don’t know’ before looking at 47. His focus, however, was fixed on the guards.

“Whatever they’re guarding,” she said softly, “it must be important.”


	81. 2007: Missives

Ian sat in the gallery with Shaw and Powell, frowning at the scene before him. It was so odd seeing Ben at the defendant’s table. He spotted Agent Sadusky in the gallery, as well. Ben was standing, in orange and restrained. Ankle bracelets and his wrists restrained to a chain around his waist. The judge asked, “On the charges of trespassing on government property and attempted grand theft, how does the defendant plead.”

“Guilty, Your Honor,” Ben said. Ian felt something splinter inside him, and he exhaled and looked away, toward Powell. Shaw rested a hand on his back. He vaguely heard the judge thank everyone for their time and move on to the next case, while Ben was remanded pending sentencing. Ian decided he didn’t want to see that. He’d find out later, in a letter probably.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, when everyone was filing out. The three of them stood and fell into the crowd leaving the courtroom.

“I can’t believe it either,” Sadusky said behind them, and Ian jumped a little and looked over his shoulder at him and merely shook his head.

“Why did he do it?” Ian asked. “Why isn’t he fighting it?”

Sadusky shrugged. “Only he knows.”

Ian sighed and shook his head as they stood outside the courtroom, forming in a loose circle. Sadusky buried his hands in his pockets and watched them for a moment. “What is he thinking?”

Sadusky shrugged again. “I don’t know,” he said.

Ian nodded. “Fair enough.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

“I’m working on it. I imagine he is, too.”

Sadusky nodded slowly. “Good luck,” he said. “I need to get back to my office. Got other cases to work on, so forth.” He managed a cold laugh, and Ian merely nodded and watched him go off, sending him off with a wave before turning back to his men.

“Now what?” Powell asked. Ian shook his head, indicating that he didn’t wish to discuss the matter anymore. He nodded, and the three of them walked out to Ian’s car, parked a couple of blocks away from the courthouse. Shaw held the rear passenger door for Ian, who slid inside and nodded vaguely to him, and then walked around the rear bumper to climb into the seat next to Ian. Powell sat behind the wheel and started the car. In moments they were pulling out, and Ian settled into the seat and leaned his arm on the armrest in the door, his hand over his mouth as he stared out over D.C. as it passed by.

Shaw looked at him, but he knew not what to say. Instead he sat in silence, his hand resting gently on Ian’s thigh. Ian glanced at it and then lay his hand over Shaw’s, stroking gently. “Here’s what we do,” he finally said, looking at Powell and out the windshield. “I’m almost certain Ben will explain himself in a letter, but regardless of what he says, I’ll make arrangements for us to return to London. We still have obligations there.”

***

Several days later, Ian pulled a prison envelope out of the stack of mail waiting for him when he arrived home in London, and he sat at his dining room table and opened it with his finger. He found it easy to do so, and pulled the packet free.

‘ _Ian—_

‘ _As I’m sure you know, the guards here open and read any correspondence in and out of the prison, in case there’s any plots to escape, or crazy things like anthrax, files, etc. If you’re reading this, then I passed inspection._

‘ _I need you to know a few things; I saw you at my hearing so I’m sure you have some questions. The answers are: the hunt attracted undue attention from a company named Verax, they originally wanted me for treason but we talked them down, and they’ve got a lot of pull with the government. An ungodly amount of pull. You need to be careful, Ian. Lie in wait and look for a perfect opportunity to go after them on my behalf. One won’t present itself for years, most likely. Until then don’t attract any undue notice like I did. Find another angle and pursue that, keep me posted._

‘ _Another thing: I’m using a 1988 King James Bible. No one questions the Bible._

‘ _I’ve written another letter to Abigail and Riley, letting them know roughly the same thing, telling her I love her and him to look out for himself first and foremost. I can’t protect them like I used to, and probably never will again, so I’ll need you to step in. Look out for them. I know Abigail can stand up for herself and Riley probably wants nothing to do with you (last I heard is it’s complicated), but please do this for me, Ian._

‘ _I hear you and Shaw are doing alright, all things considered. I heard surviving nearly dying has a lot of pull on the street, if you need it. It can’t hurt._

‘ _I wish you guys the best of luck._

‘ _Ben._ ’

***

Ben received two letters at mail call a week later, already pre-opened for him. They must’ve passed, he observed with a slight smirk. In his cell, he read the one from Ian first.

‘ _Ben—_

‘ _You crazy bastard. But, you’ve learned something of immense value. Verax is tied to Page 47, is tied to Pres. Greenwood. It’s my understanding he won’t do anything about it due to the coming election, and he wants to appear tough on crime for his platform. Ride this out, but things will turn in your favor soon._

‘ _Riley and Jackie are casually dating, and I’m told it’s going well. Riley was reluctant to accept my offer of protection, but seems to understand that as long as he is involved with my cousin, he’s under protection regardless. Abigail, as you said, insisted she can mind herself just fine, thank you very much, but she appreciates the offer. What you need to do is take care of yourself. Watch your back in prison, and mind your manners. No one fucks with you if you’re polite._

‘ _And Ben...you really should’ve gotten in touch with a lawyer. My sister Sarah is willing to offer her services, but requires the aid of her contacts in the States as she isn’t licensed over there._

‘ _Ian._ ’

Ben folded the letter back up and slid it back in its envelope, hiding it underneath the thin pillow of his cot. The second letter was from Abigail, whom he’d written to anxious for her and concerned about how their current state of affairs affected their relationship.

‘ _Ben,_

‘ _First of all, everything is going to be fine. We’ll keep looking for clues and trying to figure out what’s going on, you keep your head down._

‘ _Patrick and Emily are worried about you, and ranting about how you’re not a traitor and so forth. They’re fighting again because of this, but I can tell they’re both worried. They agree on that much, at least. We’re all worried about you, really, but Ian is the only one qualified to give you advice. I hope it’s good._

‘ _Good luck._

‘ _Abigail._ ’

He tucked this under his pillow as well and sat on the bed, sighing a little and thinking briefly about his next move. Ian and Abigail were right, he knew, but there didn’t appear to be much he could do about it now. He’d given up his rights by taking the plea. Now he just needed to hope for a light sentence and think about getting Greenwood to come to his senses. That would wait until his re-election.

_I’d have voted for you, too,_ he thought.


	82. 2016: Red Snow

Something moved in the shadows, and Shaw tensed all of a sudden, reaching for his gun and raising it, cocking it measuredly. Ian jumped back at Shaw’s sudden, quick movements, and kept himself behind him. He peered at the corridor over Shaw’s shoulder, but for a moment he couldn’t fully understand what happened. The figure approached quickly, and shots were fired. Shaw got a few off, he was sure, but the first clear thing Ian had seen was something tearing through Shaw’s torso, spraying blood everywhere. Shaw dropped to the floor, clutching his torso in pain.

Ian pushed himself to his feet and rushed the advancing figure, ready to move in for the kill shot, and, with an incoherent yell, Ian tackled him to the ground. The attacker stared up at him, surprised that he had managed such a feat, but Ian wasn’t done yet. He straddled the clone and proceeded to punch him again and again in the face. After several of these blows, he gripped both sides of the man’s head and began slamming it against the concrete floor, several times.

Behind him, Shaw rolled so that he could see what was happening, and then scrambled to his feet and staggered over to Ian, taking him under the arm and trying to pull him off. Ian tried to wiggle out of his grasp, and Shaw said, “Ian, no! Get off him!” Ian stopped, panting heavily and staggering to his feet, leaning heavily on Shaw and the nearest wall. The assailant lay unconscious and bloodied on the concrete floor. Shaw took the man’s gun in his free hand and fired two shots into his head.

Ian returned to Shaw, wrapping an arm around his waist to help support him, and together they started limping down the corridor. Ian watched Shaw, paling in color and beads of sweat forming all over his face. “You’re going to be alright,” he said, somewhat insistently. “We just need to get you topside.”

“Ian...” he gasped. “Why the hell...did you do that? How did you do that?”

“I...” Ian began. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Let’s not think about it, sweetheart. Not until we get you help.”

Shaw managed a weak nod and began giving Ian quick, simple directions back to the hatch. Their progress was slow, and every so often Shaw had to rest for a bit. These periods became more frequent the longer they went on, but within minutes they reached the ladder to the outside world. “Go,” Ian said. “You go first.” He helped Shaw up the ladder first, before following behind him and making sure he didn’t slip and fall. Shaw throws open the hatch and collapses, half-relieved, onto the snow and cold ground. Ian climbed out after him and lay next to him, resting his hand on his back and smiling at him, their noses inches from each other. “You’re alright,” he said. “You’re alright.” Shaw smiled and nodded. 

Ian looked up at the sound of heavy boots crunching on the snow. “What’s going on?” a voice asked.

“He needs a doctor!” Ian said quickly, pushing himself up.

The man nodded and turned to the walkie-talkie on his shoulder. “ICA Sec 5, we need a chopper, stat!” he said into it, and then he turned to Ian. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Ian blinked, scrutinizing him as he sat on his knees, his hands on his thighs. He certainly didn’t look like a cop, so Ian began to explain, to the best of his ability, what had happened.

“How many others are there?” the commando asked.

“I don’t know. There are three that I know of, but all are dead,” Ian replied. The familiar sound of chopping the sky was heard, faintly. The man nodded at him before signaling the approaching helicopter as the sound of the rotors grew louder and louder and the chopper descended. Ian watched blankly while the helicopter touched down and medical personnel rushed out, running toward them and directed by the commando talking to him. They assessed Shaw’s wound and carefully rolled him onto a stretcher before tying him down and carrying him into the chopper.

Ian stood then, moving to follow, but the commando touched him on the upper arm. “You can’t go with him,” he said, just loud enough to be heard, as he shook his head. Ian stared.

“Why not?”

“Space, really.”

“Where are you taking him? I fucking swear if you don’t release him when he gets better—”

The man shook his head again. “We’re taking him to the nearest affiliated hospital, you can visit him later. But right now we need to get him to safety so he can recover.” Ian could only stare. “What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?”

“Bolton. Agent Paul Bolton.”

“Ian Howe,” he replied haltingly.

“Mr. Howe, why don’t you tell me what’s going on down there.” He glanced briefly at two other men, who were busy with the task of securing former president Greenwood. Then he looked back at Ian again. “What are you two doing down there?” he asked.

“There’s eight of us, or so,” Ian replied. “As you probably know if you’re here already, watching us.”

Bolton narrowed his eyes slightly. “Why don’t you tell me what’s down there, besides your dead attackers, and the live ones.”

Ian considered him for a moment. “We found a new bit,” he said finally. Bolton lifted his eyebrows. “Yeah,” he said, when the chopper had taken off and the sound had faded again. “Steel.”

“Steel?” Ian nodded. Bolton turned to his walkie-talkie to give more instructions. The rest of the men emerged from the surrounding forest. Ian stood back and breathed heavily. Several of the men moved to the hatch and forced it open, descending rapidly. He could guess what they would be doing: fanning out until they found what Ian had been talking about. He hadn’t been keeping good track of their movements so he couldn’t help them much, and Shaw was already indisposed. He bit his lip and sighed.


	83. 2016: Alone In The Hallways As Always

The corridor following the long rows of germinating clones opened into another, and another, a long series of various labs dedicated to all sorts of functions and tests and analyses. Many housed gigantic apparatuses for very specialized data collection. Jackie and Riley looked around at all of them, finding a series of keycard and biometric locks, but no guards. “Shouldn’t people be keeping track of this place?” she asked Katia.

“Exactly. That’s a problem,” she replied. “But I think they’re not expecting anyone to find their secret underground base. People haven’t been in my father’s old lab in ages, it looks like. No one expects anything to be here.”

“The secrecy is the security.”

“The secrecy is the security?” Riley asked, as if that were a curious way to phrase it.

“I pick up little bits like that from Martha’s diary.”

“Martha?”

“Martha Wade Howe, one of our ancestors. Kind of a famous one, too. She disguised herself as a man, had her brother purchase a low-level office for her in the army, and fought in the Revolution on the redcoat side. At least initially.”

“Initially? What happened?”

“She was found out, and rather than punish her as they usually do—hanging death—what they did was, to avoid the shame of having a woman have the respect and admiration of her men, write her and her unit out of existence. They were left without supplies, quarter, and options. The rest of the unit were given other options, but most of them followed her. Kind of a testament to her demeanor on the field, I think.”

“She made it, right?”

“Oh yeah, she did. She certainly lived to write about it, and to tell her children and grandchildren, even pass down her musket. These days it’s something of a good luck charm.”

“What you like…carry it around and good things happen?”

“Well more like, it prevents bad things from happening. No one’s quite sure how it works, and in truth that piece of knowledge isn’t really necessary. We don’t need to know how it works, so long as it does.”

“OK,” he said. “Your family’s super cool.”

“Actually it’s just Martha and Nathaniel. And a handful of others who did cool things like fight World War I and II. One was a dogfighter pilot. That’s pretty cool, I think. There’s also a huge collection of drunks, deadbeats, people who’ve squandered what little money they have, and so forth. For example, Ian’s parents.” Riley could only look at her for a moment. “Ben’s family. Do you think it means anything besides like…four people who did something awesome: discover the secret of the treasure and then finally find it?”

“OK, good point.”

“Yeah, six generations of people looking for something that one member of their family had happened across on accident.”

“And compromising the whole family reputation, too,” Riley added, as if hopefully.

“I hear it worked out in the end, at least,” Jackie replied. “They were all vindicated.”

“Yep, that’s true.”

“So what about your family? Besides what you’ve told me already about your batshit mother and your weird brother,” Jackie asked.

“Oh, nothing really.” Riley shrugged. “We’re colonists through and through, far as I’ve been able to tell. Can’t be assed to find out all the details, though.”

“Well they didn’t keep records, much of the time. No diaries and shit from common folk.”

“Exactly. I mean I guess they had tangential parts in all the big stuff like the Revolution and the Civil War and World War I and II and whatever else, but you know.” Riley shrugged. “It’s a bit…normal.”

“Most families are.”

“Hey, at least you’re not saddled with mine,” Katia said over her shoulder, smiling somewhat knowingly at Riley. Riley glanced at Jackie, as if she would have the answers, but Jackie merely shook her head.

They continued on, weaving through the corridors until Katia called them to a halt. In the distance, echoing off the walls, they could faintly hear gunshots. “What was that?” Riley asked.

“One of the clones found someone,” Katia said, listening intently. An uncertain silence fell, as far as Jackie and Riley had been able to tell. Then, slowly, Katia lowered her hand. “I’m…not sure what just happened,” she said simply.

“Is someone gonna come kill us?”

Katia shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. She paused again and added, “I think they’re dead.”

“Who?”

“The attacker.” She knew a few things she wouldn’t say, for instance: the individual hurt someone of great significance, provoking a rage response; that it was, with ninety-nine percent certainty, Shaw who was injured. The rage response belonged, then, to Ian. She chose to say none of this, however, and instead pondered the corridor ahead of her. “That makes three down,” she said.

“Of how many?”

“Judging by the containers back there, seven at the most.”

Riley breathed a sigh of relief. “OK, I like those odds way better,” he said.

“That means there are four left,” Jackie added. “I can handle that.” _Especially one at a time, if their current pattern keeps up._

Katia glanced at them both over her shoulder, pleasantly surprised that they were happy with the odds before them. She herself had some doubts on the situation, as she knew some of the clones could be woken up at a moment’s notice with little to no consequence. That put the forces she’d have to contend with at perhaps ten or twelve, rather than four. That…was a more challenging math problem.


	84. 2016: Washing Hands Of The Matter

Two task force operatives moved almost shoulder to shoulder down the hall, as much as its narrow width would allow, before one of them stumbled on a body. “Second one, gunshots,” he said to the radio. They were keeping a tally, tracking the treasure hunters’ probable route through the compound through the dead bodies. He fumbled about with his phone and snapped some pictures before pocketing it again and moving on.

“This place is fuckin’ creepy,” his companion said to him.

“Listen, Chester, all we gotta do is stick together. Even a place like this has to be finite.”

“It can be finite and creepy all at the same time.”

“What, you watch horror movies in your spare time?”

“…No…”

“Yeah, well, you’re not in a horror movie. None of us are. It’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

They continued on in silence, their boots thumping on the floor. Static crackled on the radio before a voice could be heard. “Third one, fucking bludgeoned to death.” The team ahead of them had found the third corpse. “Somethin’ else. There’s a T. Which way do we go?”

“Split up,” the man in front of Chester replied. “It’s what they did, and we’re bound to find somebody—or something—eventually.”

“Roger.” The line went silent again.

***

47 paused, bringing Abigail and Ben to a stop. “What is it?” she asked.

“Something’s wrong,” he said simply. He didn’t quite know what, but he’d learned long ago to trust the tingling at the back of his neck. “Turn around,” he said. “Back the way we came.”

“What?” Ben asked, but 47 was already sliding between them. “We came all this way and—”

But Abigail cut him off by lifting a hand. “Ben, you’re not the expert in the room anymore,” she said. “You need to learn to trust the people who are. That guy, whomever he is, he’s the expert. OK?”

“It still doesn’t make sense.”

“Because you don’t know what you’re looking for,” 47 replied, tilting his head ever so slightly in Ben’s direction. “You never have. That’s your biggest problem right now, and you walked blindly into it.”

Abigail leaned back slightly and chewed her lip, pointedly looking at a spot on the wall. “Don’t worry, he’s always like this,” she said after a brief moment.

“That’s exactly why you should be worried, Dr. Chase,” 47 said to her. Then, he started walking again. Abigail, for her part, followed him. Ben hesitated, looking around as if he was staring at an opportunity wasted, but he followed anyway.

***

Chester and his companion reached the T intersection just as 47, Ben, and Abigail did. “Nothing up there,” 47 said to him briefly. “Katia went this way.” He pointed to the other route offered and started. “You two stay here,” he said to Ben and Abigail. The task force men followed 47, leaving Ben and Abigail to hang out together at the intersection.

“Where are Ian and Shaw?” 47 asked.

“Topside,” one of them replied. “Shaw had to be flown out.”

“Is he alright?”

“He was still conscious when they lifted him, so things are looking good.”

“Good. Ian would hang you himself otherwise.”

“P-pardon?” 47 said nothing in response, so the task forcer decided to drop it. It would be easier that way.

They walked, following the corridors until they stopped at a long, open hallway filled with tubes. “Holy shit,” Chester said slowly to himself, his eyes roaming over the tubes of liquid and clones in various stages of growth. It looked like someone had skipped “accelerated development” entirely and went straight to growing something in an adult frame from scratch. 47 didn’t show it as well, but he had blanched ever so slightly, and his stomach turned. “You were right,” he said. “This shit’s way more important.”

“Everything is important,” 47 said simply.

“ICA Sec 5, backup requested…. Yeah, it’s big. Very big.”

“Who is that?” 47 asked, turning to Chester.

“Nearest command center,” he replied. “Charleston. There’s a base nearby, though.” 47 said nothing, accepting this news simply. “You know they want to take this over, right?”

“I figured as much. I have terms.”

“Terms?”

“They’re very easy, so easy even you can remember them. All these clones here? They die.”

***

Katia, Riley, and Jackie had almost reached the end of the corridor when she brought them to a halt again. “What now?” Riley asked. “Somebody else die?”

“Shh,” Katia replied. She cocked her head a little and listened. “Someone’s coming…”

“Good news or bad news?” Riley asked in a whisper. But by then they could hear the footsteps as well. They all turned, and she looked at one of the people approaching.

“Good news,” Katia said, and she almost ran up to him, wrapping her arms around 47’s shoulders. He jumped a little, eyes shooting up before rolling back to what they should’ve been looking at.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“You saw it, didn’t you,” she replied. He nodded, and she released him and took a step back. “What happens now?”

“This isn’t your hunt anymore,” 47 said to Riley and Jackie.

“I’m OK with that,” Riley said.

“Same,” Jackie said.

47 nodded to the task force men and then stepped between them, gesturing for Katia, Riley, and Jackie to follow him. They did, filing into a line before filling out again. When they walked back through the hallway of gestating clones, Katia lowered her eyes, daring not to look at them again. Once was enough. Jackie and Riley awkwardly looked at each other and tried not to focus on much else, though the reality of the room was an omnipresent entity that seemed to introduce itself into every corner of their being. It felt like ages until they were clear of it—and its influence—again.

“So now what?” Jackie asked, when she felt it was safe to do so.

“Go back topside,” 47 replied. “The ICA will handle this place.”

“How’s Ian?” Jackie asked.

“You’ll see.”

Jackie nodded, folding her arms and chewing her lips a little.


	85. 2016: Preparing The Final Strike

Ian walked into Shaw’s hospital room, and Shaw looked at him and smiled a little. “How’re you feeling?” Ian asked.

“Better,” Shaw replied, and Ian took a seat on the edge of his bed. “What’d I miss?”

“Plenty, the…ICA is cleaning out the basement, which appears to be a Kryton Technologies establishment. The CEO is denying any and all involvement and insisting it’s a farce, we all know he’s lying. Frankly, as far as all things are concerned, we have one final matter to take care of.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Tomlin is planning a trip to London to visit John, probably talk some sense into him, or kill him. I’ve made arrangements to meet him there, would you be up for that?”

Shaw smiled. “I can’t do much, love, with the stitches and all, but you bet your ass.” They laughed together for a moment, and Ian leaned forward to kiss his forehead.

“If I were a betting man, I would. Every time,” Ian said with a smile.

Shaw laughed a little. “When’re you leaving?”

“Early next week.”

“I think I’ll be cleared by then.” Ian grinned and kissed him again.

“You sure?” he asked. “You can stay here and rest if you need to.”

“I wanna be there, watching us bring that fucker down,” Shaw insisted. Ian nodded.

“Alright, love. We’ll arrange that.”

Shaw smiled. “Thanks, love.” Ian smiled back and kissed his forehead again.

***

Powell frowned a little, watching his phone. “Something wrong?” Victor asked, and Powell looked up.

“No,” he replied, turning his screen off and pocketing his phone. “Just checking on Tomlin’s progress. He took off earlier this morning.”

“Good, we’re right on schedule.”

Powell smiled at him and then looked to the nose of the chartered plane, where Ian and Shaw were boarding. “Guess who decided to join us,” he said lightly, standing to shake Shaw’s hand. Shaw laughed and shook his head.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“We’re right on time.”

“Good, good. When’s his plane touch down?”

Powell pulled out his phone again and checked. “ETA…thirteen hours from now.”

“We need to be a little faster,” Ian said. “I want us to follow him from the airport.” He turned to the cabin to give the pilot instructions.

“I can get a visual and find his gate,” Phil offered with a light shrug.

Shaw snapped and pointed at him. “Genius,” he said. “You got a laptop?”

“Yeah.” Phil patted his carryon bag.

“Good. Powell, let him know.” Powell nodded and made an affirmative sound.

Ian returned from the cabin and sank into the sofa next to Shaw. “We’re go, we’re leaving in a few minutes.”

“Thank god for no lines or security,” Phil said with a light laugh. Ian smiled in response.

“Settle in and enjoy yourselves, boys, it’s a waiting game now,” Ian said.

***

With an hour before landing, Powell gave Phil the gate Tomlin was set to appear from, and Phil was busy breaking into the system. Ian walked into the cabin, and Powell said, “Good news, looks like we’re landing first, by a slim margin.”

“Perfect,” Ian replied. “Victor, go straight to my place. Powell, Phil, you two follow him until you’re able to capture him without being seen. Bring him to the flat.” He received affirmative noises.

“Wait, what’s Shaw doing?” Phil asked, looking up from his laptop while the program ran.

“Shaw’s gonna help me establish an alibi,” Ian replied with a smile. “I’ve made reservations to have a steak dinner with him.”

“He have a proper suit?”

“I’ve got it covered.”

Phil nodded, glancing at the terminal again and pleased that his prompt had returned, without an error message. “Got it,” he said, typing some more until a screen of the cameras around the gate in question fed to his screen.

“Excellent.”

“Everyone, this is your pilot speaking,” said a voice over the intercom. “Please take your seats and prepare for landing.” Ian moved to the chair and settled in, buckling his seatbelt. Shaw followed his lead, leaving Victor, Powell, and Phil on the sofa, bracing slightly.

The landing was fairly easy, and they touched down almost fifteen minutes earlier than projected. “ETA on Tomlin?” Ian asked. Powell checked his phone.

“Another thirty minutes,” he said.

“Excellent. Be ready, boys!”


	86. 2016: Death Of A Statesman

Tomlin carried his briefcase right through Customs, presenting them with his diplomatic passport, and set off across the terminal. Without his awareness, two men fell in behind him by several paces. “We’ve got eyes,” Powell said into his phone.

“Excellent,” Ian replied. “Keep on him.”

“Roger.” Powell pocketed his phone.

Tomlin pushed the door open and turned a corner, his tails dutifully following him. He walked leisurely down the sidewalk and checked his watch and his phone, accessing the map function and checking his route to the asylum where John was being kept.

Behind him, Phil looked around at the pool of potential witnesses. Foot traffic was unsettlingly heavy, but then Tomlin turned another corner, and immediately things began to thin out. He glanced at Powell and nodded. Powell nodded back, and they picked up the pace, quietly power-walking until they covered distance between themselves and Tomlin. Tomlin turned another corner, and by then they were feet behind him. When he was close enough, Powell reached out and caught Tomlin on the back of the throat, expertly pinching a pressure point, until Tomlin collapsed to the ground.

Phil ran up and picked up the man’s legs, while Powell picked him up under the armpits. He led them to a nearby older model car and popped open the trunk, hoisting Tomlin inside and slamming it shut on top of him. Powell climbed into the driver’s seat and Phil in next to him. Powell pulled out and started toward Ian’s flat.

***

“ _Monsieur_ Howe,” said the maître d’, shaking Ian’s hand.

“ _Bon soir,_ ” Ian replied.

“Your table is this way, if you please,” he said, gesturing and setting off. Ian and Shaw followed him.

“You clever bastard,” Shaw said in a low voice to Ian, grinning. Ian merely laughed lightly, as if to say, “I know I am.”

The maître d’ led them to a small candlelit table in the back of the restaurant. “May I present you the wine list?” he asked as they sat down.

“Please,” Ian said. Shaw sipped from a glass of ice water.

They decided on a nice merlot and a couple of orders of fillet mignon, and settled in to wait. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” Shaw asked with a smile.

Ian smiled back. “I appreciate it,” he said with a light laugh. “How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad,” Shaw replied, sipping the wine and licking his lips slightly. “Kind of tired but I think that’s me trying to heal up.”

“Well you got the easy job,” Ian replied.

“I did, thank you.”

“Hey, you’ve earned it.”

“Thanks, boss.” Shaw smiled at him. Their chatter ceased while the waiter brought them their fillets, and Ian thanked him as he left.

Just then, Shaw’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and glanced at the message. Victor had sent him an image of Tomlin unconscious on Ian’s floor. “They got him,” he said to Ian. Ian nodded. Shaw texted back, ‘Kill on sight.’ Then, he pocketed his phone and returned to his steak.

***

Victor nodded at Shaw’s message and pulled out his knife, standing over Tomlin’s unconscious body and slicing his throat open in a single fluid motion, cutting almost to the spinal cord. Blood poured out of Tomlin’s body. Powell already moved to grab the lye and the mop kept in the kitchen. Phil followed him, returning with a body bag and unrolling and unzipping it so that he and Victor could lay his body inside.

Victor zipped up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Phil, stay here and help with the mess,” he said. Phil nodded, and Victor turned and carried the body and a shovel from the broom closet over to the fire escape and descending methodically. He stuffed the body in the trunk of the stolen car and drove out to the middle of the English countryside, taking a dirt track into the forest to bury it. People would be looking for Tomlin if he didn’t come back, so he had to be very choosy.

He found a small lake no one knew about, with a massive rock overlooking it. _Perfect,_ he thought, and he set to work.


	87. 2007: New Normal

Ian brewed himself some tea and poured a cup, dropping a couple of cubes of sugar in it and carrying it over to the dining room table, where his crew, Jackie, and Riley sat around it. “So, it seems I have groupies,” he quipped. Jackie laughed, and Riley looked at him rather simply before staring at the newspaper. “You alright, Riley?”

“Yeah, rough flight,” he said simply, shifting. Ian nodded.

“Sorry to hear that.”

“So, what’s the next move?” Jackie asked.

“Well…focus on business here, otherwise keep a low profile,” Ian replied. “If you like, Riley, I can make arrangements for your medical care.”

“I’ll talk to a doctor about pain pills or something, and I’ll get used to it,” Riley said with a shrug.

“Very well. And there’s something else.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s come to my attention that you require a new accountant.”

Riley looked up. “What?” But Ian responded with a light smile. “OK, you know what? I…don’t wanna know.” Riley shook his head, and Ian laughed.

***

Ben sighed, watching the suited man take a seat in front of him and pick up the phone. Ben’s set was already held up to my face. “So, you’re the lawyer Ian sent.”

“I’m on recommendation from Sarah Howe, yes,” the man replied. “And I know who her brother is.” Ben nodded. “My name is Marcus Connors. Would you like my card?”

Ben first shook his head, and then nodded as if to say “Oh, yeah, sure.” Marcus slid his card through the opening, and a guard offered to check it out. Ben allowed it. The guard nodded and set the card back down.

“What was that about?” Marcus asked.

“Oh, they wanna make sure no one is slipping me a blade of some kind that I can use to escape,” Ben replied. “Not that I plan to, of course.”

“Of course. So, Dr. Gates, what do you need?”

“Well, I don’t know. I was told I needed to contact a lawyer about my case, but all things considered I was let off easy. I don’t know how, but I can guess.”

“I see. You’re not gonna pursue appeal or anything like that?” Ben shook his head. “Well, even so, I’d like to be able to look over the case files and put something together, just in case.”

Ben nodded. “Alright,” he said.

“And you never know, I might see a chance for you.”

“I appreciate it, thank you.”

Marcus nodded. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and he hung up the phone. Ben hung up his and stood, and the guards escorted him out.

***

Neil Aerni looked up from his paperwork as his assistant held the door. “A…Mr. Howe and Mr. Poole to see you, sir?” she asked.

“Send them in,” he replied, and he stood when Ian and a man he barely recognized entered. “Mr. Howe, welcome! Please, have a seat,” he said, shaking Ian’s hand and gesturing to one of the guest chairs.

“Thank you,” Ian replied. “Mr. Aerni, I’d like you to meet my friend. Riley Poole, Neil Aerni; Neil Aerni, Riley Poole.”

“A pleasure,” Neil said, shaking Riley’s hand. Riley nodded stiffly and sat awkwardly, or perhaps painfully, in the other chair.

“I wanted to refer my friend to you personally.”

“I see. What can we do for you?”

“First of all, I want it on the table that I’m not a criminal. Most of the time,” Riley said, holding up his hands. Neil frowned, but Ian chuckled a little.

“ _Ect-ce qu’il plaisante?_ ” Neil asked.

“ _Oh, s'il vous plaît, Neil, vous savez que cette banque a une certaine ... réputation,_ ” Ian replied with a light smile.

“You guys know I know just enough French to know what the hell is going on, right?” Riley said.

Ian laughed again and shook his head. “It’s alright,” he said. “Neil and I go way back. I’m surprised that he’s surprised you’re not a criminal, at this point.”

Neil straightened and cleared his throat, using the straightening of his papers as an excuse to gather his thoughts. “Um, I presume that you’d like to set up an account, Mr. Poole?” he asked.

“Yes, I would, please,” Riley replied.

“Excellent,” Neil said, producing a couple of papers and handing one to Riley and one to Ian, along with a pen and a clipboard for each. “Fill those out please, and then we’ll begin to discuss options.” He finished with a smile as he folded his hands on his desk. Riley gave him a strange look, as if he noticed that it was strangely wooden.


	88. 2016: Alexei Volkov

Ian sighed, leaning back in his chair and twiddling his pen in the fingers of one hand, after finishing his ledger for the day. Someone knocked on his door, and he saw the familiar face of Marcus Connors. “Please, come in,” Ian said, and he gestured to one of the spare chairs in front of his desk. Marcus took a seat.

“I should cut to the chase, Mr. Howe,” he said. “Do you recall when you asked me to look into Dr. Gates’ case, any way he’d allow me to?”

Ian nodded. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Has something come up?”

“Someone flipped,” Marcus said bluntly, and then from his briefcase he produced a manila folder filled with documents. He handed it to Ian. “This is a complete financial history of Kryton Technologies’ dealings with Verax and Ensign, including transcripts and minutes of in-person meetings.”

Ian scanned the first page before looking up at Marcus. “Is this legitimate?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t,” he said.

“So you’re staking your life on it.” Marcus nodded, and Ian nodded and pulled one of the pages up, scanning the next page. “Who flipped?” Ian finally asked, looking up at Marcus.

“A man named Dr. Alexander Volkov.” Ian looked up again, and his hands loosened on the folder to the point where it fell closed on his desk. “Take it the name means something to you?”

“It means many things,” Ian said, leaning back in the chair. “Tell me more about this…Volkov.”

***

Dr. Volkov grunted a little, his coat over one arm as he sank into the chair, with a deep sigh. He leaned over and hung the coat on the nearby rack, and he slid his readers on until they rested comfortably on his nose.

‘ _Alexander Volkov is a scientist, and a holdover from an earlier time. He was picked up by Kryton under dubious circumstances and quickly became one of the lead scientists on their own rendition of the Agent Program. There is a rumor floating around that he was part of the original team assembled or brought over by Dr. Litvenko, but it’s never been confirmed. It appears that now he’s beginning to contemplate his future, his legacy._ ’

Volkov frowned a little and leaned forward over a newspaper covering the latest global events. Secretary of State Tomlin had gone missing during his visit to London, and shocking revelations were still being pulled out of what had been dubbed the Verax Files, released almost three months prior. They had resulted in dozens of arrests by now, and there was speculation that a cartel war in Texas was the result of the leaking of the files. In short, one group was accusing another of working with the Feds.

‘ _There’s…something else, Mr. Howe._ ’

‘ _Oh?_ ’

‘ _He had a son. Alexei was his name._ ’

Volkov lay the paper down again and raised his eyes to the lone photo on his desk, a simply framed, old photograph of a young, blond-haired, bright blue-eyed boy grinning up at the camera. He remembered taking that picture as if it were yesterday. He was so proud at the chance to finally go to a foreign country. He was so excited. He thought it was going to be something like an extended vacation that rich people took. Volkov had had to take a passport photo for him, but then they moved outside. He had dozens more in a box, of him making all sorts of silly expressions.

He sniffed involuntarily and blinked away tears, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Then, he steeled his resolve and picked up the phone, dialing a number he knew well by now.

***

“Alexei, you said?” Ian asked, and Marcus nodded. “Well, the plot thickens,” he added with a smile and a chuckle.

“How so?” Marcus asked with a frown.

“You see, a man named Ivanenko has convinced himself that my brother is this Alexei Volkov,” Ian explained, still smiling. “The real Alexei Volkov was killed in a schoolyard fight at the Sedley School, and John seemed forced to assume his place. But, by virtue of being twins, I went instead and got the entire cluster out of Sedley’s hair by getting myself expelled.” Marcus raised his eyebrows, and Ian laughed. “What, you think I don’t know how to fight, do you?”

“I shouldn’t put anything past you,” Marcus said simply, looking down slightly.

“That’s right.” Ian chuckled again, and Marcus looked up at him. “Now, is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

“Not at this time, no,” he said, pursing his lips. “I can—”

“No need to keep me posted,” Ian replied. “You’ve given me quite enough, thank you.”

“You’re…very welcome,” Marcus said as he stood, grinning in part with relief. “Here is my card, call if you need anything else in the States.”

“I will.” Ian nodded, leaning over and sliding Marcus’s card into his Rolodex. Phil held the door for Marcus as he left.

“Well, that was an informative meeting,” Phil said.

“Informative doesn’t even cover the half of it,” Ian replied.


	89. 2016: Hello Guard

“Excuse me, Katia Van Dees, is it?” Katia looked up at the speaker, ready to quip something about how she was done answering questions, but she couldn’t help but look at the man in front of her. He was tall, perhaps a few inches taller than her brother, and she could see where his standard-issue black shirt stretched thin over his chest, shoulders, and upper arms. His trousers were less well-fit, but she suspected based on the gun and bulletproof vest that he wasn’t skipping leg day if he wanted to be a commando worth anything. His blond-brown hair was growing out of a buzz cut, and his face retained that boyish charm in spite of everything.

“Y-yeah?” she asked softly.

“Get up,” he said, gesturing for her to stand. “You’re free to go.”

“Really? After almost two days of questioning they’re…letting me go?” Katia asked, incredulous and recalling the time she was called in from the hotel, to “answer questions” about what had happened in West Virginia and how she understood the situation. What she thought would be a couple of hours at most turned into nearly twenty, and a lot of it was filled with demands about 47’s whereabouts. A couple of the cuts on her face were from her refusal to answer those questions.

The man nodded. “Yeah.” He gestured again for her to stand, and Katia stood slowly. He approached her and pulled a key off his belt, unlocking the handcuffs around her wrists. She rubbed some life into them as he walked to the door and knocked on it a couple of times. The door unlocked with a slight hiss and swung open. Another guard nodded to him as they stepped out into the hallway.

“So, um…what’s your name?” she asked. Then she laughed a little. “Surely you must be allowed to tell me that much.”

“Gallagher,” he said with a smile, and he held out a hand for her to shake. “Jake Gallagher.”

Katia shook his hand. “You know my name.”

Jake laughed a little. “Maybe you wanna change it, if you want these guys off your back.”

Katia shook her head. “No more running,” she said, sternly and softly.

“OK,” he said with a shrug. “But for now do you need anything?”

“Yes,” she said. “Water. And also the bathroom. And a loaded Italian sub.”

Jake laughed. “Basics, got it. OK bathroom’s that way.” He pointed. “I’ll take care of the rest, if you want.”

“Thank you.” Katia started toward the bathroom, suddenly feeling the urge to go after ages of anxiety and focusing on whatever the interviewer was asking her, no matter how nonsensical. She looked herself in a stall and took a deep breath, pleased that she was finally allowed to function like a normal person once more.

When she returned, Jake was on the phone with a local Subway. He turned and spotted her, smiling and passing her a bottle of water. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed, taking the water and chugging half the bottle before wiping her mouth on her sleeve and sighing. Oh that felt so much better. “Great, thanks,” he said, and he hung up. “About five minutes on that sub,” he said to Katia.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem. You OK?”

“A lot better, thanks.”

He gestured to guide her to the door, and she fell in beside him. “I’ll take you to pick up the sub. After that, any particular place you want to go?”

“Do you have my phone?”

“Oh, yeah.” He patted down his pockets before pulling out Katia’s burner phone and passing it to her.

“Thanks.”

“Burner phone?”

“It’s…not my idea,” she said.

“It’s OK, we know about your brother.”

“Has he been breathing down your necks about this whole thing?”

“More like…looming threateningly in the background.”

Katia nodded. “Yeah, that’s more his style, I think,” she said with a slight laugh. Jake led her out of the front door to a car waiting for them in the lot. He climbed into the driver’s seat, and she into the passenger seat, leaning back against the seat and closing her eyes a little.

“Tired?” he asked.

“A little bit. But it’s probably in my best interest to eat first.”

He laughed a little bit. “Probably.” He turned a corner and parked into the lot of the subway. She decided to stay in the car for a bit while he picked up the sub and returned to the car. He handed it to her as he closed the door behind him. “Here you go, eat up,” he said.

“Thanks,” Katia replied, unwrapping the sub and digging in.


	90. Postlude: 2016: Just Getting Started

John looked at the wall in the therapy office, pointedly staring at a corner of a stupid wall painting while his therapist said…something. He didn’t care what it was. “Can you stop talking?” he snapped finally.

“Um…alright,” the therapist replied, making a note of this as he sat behind his desk. “But we can’t help you if you don’t say anything.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Well you can’t rely on your brother and your employers forever.” John glared in response.

“We’re done for the day,” he said, and he stood and left the room, making a point of walking back to his room, whether the guards wanted him to or not.

***

Isha Stern walked into Diana’s office with a file in her hands. “Miss Stern,” Diana said, somewhat surprised, as she looked up from her work at her guest.

“The plot thickens,” Isha replied, passing Diana the file. Diana leaned back slightly and opened it to the first page, before widening her eyes and looking up at Isha.

“Are you sure of this?”

“Positive. The outpost in West Virginia had been found almost a decade ago,” she said as she smoothed her skirt and took a seat, “by Kryton Technologies. They found nothing of value to their own program, but they were able to build an extension of the facility to form their own wing, where they have a mostly functional cloning program.”

“Mostly?”

“The clones would’ve died within weeks had 47, or we, not gotten to them and…had the matter taken care of.”

“They’re unstable.”

“Highly so.”

Diana hummed and returned to the file, flipping up a page before closing the folder again and laying it on her desk. “Will they recover?”

“Remains to be seen.”

“We dealt them a major blow nonetheless. Have the involved parties been notified of compensation?”

“Yes. Agent 47 is interested, on behalf of himself and his sister. Dr. Gates and Mr. Howe refused, however.”

“Hmm…”

“It should be noted that Mr. Howe drained Verax’s bank accounts late last year and, based on their prior financials, probably has no need of money for the rest of his life, and then some.”

“An impressive heist.”

Isha nodded. “Indeed.”

Diana sighed. “Keep combing through the Kryton files. I’ll compile dossiers on the key figures for the board to consider.” Isha nodded and stood to leave. Diana leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. It was going to be a long day.


End file.
